One Part Go Away
by Gueniver
Summary: The lost years between their first mission and the meeting with V'ger. The crew of the Enterprise find their lives torn apart. This is the story of how it fell apart and came back together. Not for the faint of heart.
1. Chapter 1

One Part Go Away

Spock, C. Chapel

Summary: The lost years between their first mission and the meeting with V'ger. The crew of the Enterprise finds their lives torn apart. This is the story of how it fell apart and came back together.

Rated M for non-consensual M/F M/M and language.

Warning: Rape

Hurt/Comfort

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. No copyright infringement is intended. Paramount owns 'em I was just wondering how the hell they got from the series to the first movie. Here's one possibility, it's pretty much in keeping with the other stuff I've written. D'vun and Kaltor are words I found on the Vulcan Language Institute page. Bonnie Raitt owns the lyrics from Luck Of The Draw.

The idea of putting them together this way is my idea and therefore entirely my fault. If you don't recognize the characters from the Original Series, chances are they sprung from my tortured mind (or are real people I know but always wanted to see in uniform!). I don't make any money off of it, just the joy of endless hours of reading and re-reading for typos that I'll never find. Feedback is eagerly sought.

One Part Go Away

By Gueniver

Chapter 1 Fire and Ice

Mandatory fun. That's what she called it.

She had been 'cordially invited' to attend the going away party for Dr. M'Benga and now Christine Chapel was counting the minutes until 2100 so she could politely leave.

Fortunately there were enough people partaking of the festivities that she had been able to sit quietly in a dark corner with a data pad carefully concealed in her lap.

Leonard had gone on for over an hour about how they needed to show the poor doctor a good time before he went into voluntary exile. While not precisely exile, he had accepted a research position on Vulcan at the highly acclaimed Vulcan Science Academy. The entire medical staff seemed to be out to show the doctor every aspect of human debauchery that he was presumably giving up. As if Vulcan was some sterile, soulless rock hundreds of light years from 'civilization'.

Much to her annoyance because she was Head Nurse she was compelled to attend. She steadfastly refused to partake in any of the sophomoric drinking rituals that had sprung up around the room.

As much as she hated doing it, she would have rather spent the time working on the schedule for the crew rotation physicals. M'Benga wasn't the only officer leaving. With four years under their belts, some crewmembers had found positions elsewhere in Starfleet. In two days they would rendezvous with the Agamemnon. Which meant she had to have 16 *more* rotating crewmembers physicals done, with one fewer doctor on staff.

It was a good thing she was now qualified to do the physicals for human crewmembers. It had taken 8 months of re-testing by Starfleet Medical. Her certification as a Practitioner had coincided quite nicely with Dr. M'Benga's departure.

Tonight however, Christine had planned on perusing the listing of Vulcan Science Academy's medical library. At Dr. M'Benga's request Mr. Spock had allocated a rather large chunk of computer memory to the medical library. She had been given a portion of that space to fill as she saw fit. Dr. McCoy was receiving his download from Starfleet Medical via subspace, but Christine wanted to download as much as they could from Vulcan. It was rather difficult deciding what would be useful and what was just interesting.

The Starfleet All Star Band and Bucket Brigade returned to the platform at the end of the room and began to play what Uhura had warned would be non-stop late 20th century rock and roll music.

At a nearby table, Mr. Spock sat with the Captain.

Dr. McCoy sauntered over to the two, a half empty decanter of amber liquid in one hand and three short glasses in the other. Jaw set, eyes fixed, he sat down slowly, carefully so as not to appear intoxicated. It had the opposite effect.

"Gentlemen." From her dark corner table, the reluctant nurse could clearly hear her friend's silky voice. Uhura leaned forward, placed two hands on the table and almost spilled from her tight burgundy colored blouse "Would one of you dashing men care to join me on the dance floor?"

The band dove into a Latin tune that began to take over the lovely communication's officer's hips. As if of their own volition they began to sway slowly to and fro. She smiled flirtatiously to each of them and waited for a reply.

The doctor swayed slightly in tempo with the music but remained silent. The captain waved her away gently, "Uhura, I think I'll sit this one out. I promised the doctor a drink." He leaned forward and quickly busied himself with the whiskey. His first officer raised an eyebrow at the captain's prevarication but did not comment.

Christine smiled to herself. The captain was still nursing a back injury.

She quickly accessed ship's records and checked. Sure enough he had not used any of the analgesic she had prescribed. She made a note on her pad to have Janice sneak a dose in his morning coffee.

"Doctor? Mr. Spock?" She smiled widely, knowing what the answer would be.

"Ny!" Sulu beckoned from the dance floor. The helmsman had been her dance partner for the better part of the evening.

"You're off the hook for the moment, but I'll be back!" she wagged a finger warningly and winked then turned and danced her way through the crowd to Sulu.

The captain leaned back, whiskey in hand and muttered something under his breath about his damn back.

McCoy perked up at this.

"What was that, Jim? Your back still bothering you?"

"No." he lied. "I just thought I'd wait for you and Mr. Spock's to start the dancing this evening."

"C'mon Jim, you know Vulcans can't dance." The doctor took a small sip of his drink and turned his attention back to the dance floor.

"That's not entirely true." The captain smiled sipping his drink. Clearly his plan was to deflect the doctor's interest in his back. Mr. Spock only looked skyward innocently.

"Oh? Is there some latent skill our First Officer has neglected to share with his friends?" the doctor turned to the Vulcan.

"Go on Spock. Miss Uhura's a lovely dance partner." The captain winked at the Vulcan.

"Of that I have no doubt, sir. However I do not dance."

"Told you!" snorted the doctor turning back to the dance floor.

"Now Bones, he didn't say he _couldn't_ dance." The captain's amber eyes twinkled wickedly.

Christine chuckled to herself as she scrolled through the Vulcan Science Academy physiological texts on her pad and eavesdropped on the trio.

"As a matter of fact I'm sure we could convince the band to play something Vulcan and you could show us some of that fancy foot work you learned in primary school, Spock."

Spock raised an eyebrow in surprise. The doctor leaned in and laughed, the image of Spock in primary school learning to square dance had popped into his mind.

Now interested, the doctor started in, "Yessiree, I do believe that would be a real treat. We could do with a little entertainment, Spock. Why don't you?" He filled the untouched glass before the Vulcan to the rim. "Here a little something to bolster yer courage."

"No thank you, Doctor." He pushed the glass away with a look of distaste on his face.

"Where in the world did you get the cockamamie idea that he danced?"

"Do you remember Captain Garth?"

The doctor nodded.

"When Spock and I were planet side, there was this Orion woman...what was her name Spock?"

"Marta." His friend answered evenly.

"Oh yes, Marta. Lovely lady." He smiled for a moment then looked sad, remembering her. "She performed a small dance. Short but sweet. Like the one we saw at that place Oly's All-Orion Entourage, Bones. You remember?"

"The one with the feathers?"

"That's the one!"

The doctor laughed lecherously, "Oh yes! Lovely little dance." He smiled broadly, blue eyes twinkling. "Quite a limber young lady."

"Yes, well Marta was...what did you call it Mr. Spock?"

"I do not recall." He did recall, but did not like where this was going.

"Sure you do, she finished the dance, you said it reminded you of the dance that Vulcan school children do except that she was a helluva lot more...what was it?"

The Vulcan sighed, "I believe I commented that she was well coordinated."

"Well coordinated?! Leave it to a Vulcan to watch an Orion woman turn on her charm and call it 'coordination'. I suppose you think Uhura's 'coordinated' as well." The doctor pointed to the dance floor teasing. "Just how coordinated are _you_ Mr. Spock?"

"I do not dance, Doctor."

"But you can dance, Mr. Spock."

"I did not say that I was unable to perform the activity, doctor. Vulcan children are indeed schooled in the D'vun Kaltor, an ancient form of dance that I am quite proficient in. I have only stated that I am unwilling."

"You know, Jim, you could order him to dance. You're the captain." The doctor raised both eyebrows and filled the captain's glass again.

"Nope, I'm afraid that unless it's ship's business, I can't Bones." He lifted the glass in toast to the doctor. Spock crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair easily. "Of course if there was a _medical_ reason..."

"Hmmm." The doctor looked Spock up and down for a moment, and then smiled slyly at Jim. "You know there's not much that's better for a body than good old fashioned cardiovascular workout. Something that involves coordination, high pace, something aerobic. Mr. Spock, I believe what you really need is -"

"Nurse Chapel?" Though he did not turn, Spock's voice carried easily to where she sat, suppressing a smile, in the dark corner.

"Yes, Mr. Spock?" She hastily covered the pad in her lap.

"I assume you can access ship's records with your data pad. Would you please pull my latest physical examination?"

After a moment she responded, "I've got it sir." She smiled broadly and read it aloud. "Physician's notes: Mr. Spock is in excellent health both physically and mentally. Rating 95."

"Nurse Chapel, were there any notes indicating why I did not receive a score of 100?"

"Yes sir. 'Mr. Spock is a diligent officer but works long hours and seldom takes in adequate rest or recreation. Shore leave is prescribed as well as additional rest during standard off duty hours.' Attending physician CMO Enterprise, Leonard H. McCoy."

Spock raised a single eyebrow, met the doctor's eyes. "I am resting."

McCoy sputtered then laughed. He roughly pounded the captain on the back. The captain winced and the doctor turned his sights on his human friend.

Christine chuckled and noticed the time stamp on the top of the pad. 2114. At last she could leave.


	2. Chapter 2

Early the next morning, Christine found sickbay a quiet sanctuary. Only three visits - all victims of over indulgence, and no sign of either doctor. By 1000 she had selected all the records she would request from the Vulcan Science Academy.

After leaving the party, Christine had continued to peruse the files from the terminal in her quarters. Sometime around 0230 she had come across a reference to D'vun Kaltor. She hadn't really meant to spend more than a moment looking at it, but after viewing the short introduction, her curiosity was piqued. She decided to download an instructional vid for her personal use.

Now, in the quiet of the morning, hot coffee in hand she had just received the vid. With Leonard out and most of her staff on post party 'holiday', she put herself 'on call' and took the opportunity to hide in her office and view the first lesson on D'vun Kaltor.

It was Vulcan that was for sure. Leave it to the Vulcans to turn something like dancing into the art of control.

'D'vun' meaning meditation. 'Kaltor' dance - literally meditative dance. It was really nothing more than a series of postures carefully coordinated and timed. Each routine was unique. Some were intended for primary school children to teach basic rhythm and coordination. Some were more complex, requiring multiple participants. It was, to her Terran eye, not unlike yoga or ballet or T'ai chi chu'an. She chuckled at the thought that those three very different movement forms should all be evoked by this particular discipline. It was true though. Depending on the tempo and topic the forms took on either stylized grace or fluid warrior like moves. Curious.

As she finished her coffee and the first instructional session ended she realized what a big mistake this had been.

What was she thinking? She wasn't about to fool herself into believing this was about 'catching' Spock. Four years was too damn long to pine away for someone who was obviously not interested.

Of course she wouldn't kick him out of her quarters either, she added silently.

No, she had gotten the tape for the same reason she still had that stupid Deltan weaving kit and the Rigellian lute that now lay untouched somewhere in her closet. She needed to have things to do silly projecty things. This was just another thing that she'd start and never finish.

Oh well, at least this time it hadn't been expensive.


	3. Chapter 3

"Mr. Spock?"

"Yes captain?" the first officer did not turn from his viewer.

"It is 1700, Mr. Spock." The captain's tone sounded like a warning, but the bridge crew knew it was humor.

"Yes, Captain." Spock responded evenly. He still did not turn.

"Mr. Spock I expect you to report to transporter room 4 in the morning for the landing party." Now he was quite serious, this was not a request.

The Vulcan sighed slightly, efficiently saved his work and rose from his chair. His reluctance was quite apparent.

The captain rose as well, a spring in his step as he moved to join his friend in the turbo lift. "You have the con, Mr. Kyle." He said as the doors closed on them.

"Relax, you'll do fine."

"I have no doubt about my ability, I simply fail to see the necessity for such an illogical use of time."

"Doctor's orders, Spock you know that. You can't return to regular duty until Bones is sure you're back to normal." He managed to keep from grinning widely. Well, mostly.

The doors hissed open. The captain gestured forward grandly with a slight bow. His friend cocked an eyebrow and sighed, resigning himself to his fate he moved forward.

The Rec Room was more heavily occupied than Spock would have preferred for this. Doctor McCoy had preceded them and sat at a round table in the far corner. He had changed into civilian attire and supplied a bottle of what Spock recognized as his notorious "private reserve".

It was green.

"Ah there you are!" The doctor rose, gesturing to a chair next to him indicating where Spock should sit.

Spock did not sit.

"Now Spock, if you want to return to full duty in time for the mission tomorrow you'll have a seat."

"I fail to see the logic in this, Doctor."

The doctor grinned widely, "No Spock, you _see_ it, you just don't _like_ it." He raised a hand quickly forestalling the Vulcan's protest to the emotion.

"I've explained it thoroughly. Having your brain removed is a gawd awful unnatural thing. And despite the fact that I am a brilliant surgeon, I want to make sure you're in full working order. This is just a little test to make sure you're up to snuff. Relax Spock. It's just a game. But it will require you use your precious logic and that impressive memory as well. It tests your ability to troubleshoot, multi-task, learn new things and incorporate your notorious charm." He snorted slightly, cocked a very Vulcan eyebrow and gestured once again to the chair.

"Ante up Mr. Spock!" He grinned. "We'll begin with five card stud..."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The game came to an abrupt halt at 2307 when a message came in from the bridge that there were anomalous readings on one of the planet's moons indicating that the planet's inhabitants were less than truthful about the status of their 'long ended' civil war. Mr. Kyle put the ship on yellow alert and summoned the captain and first officer.

Dr. McCoy retrieved the cards with a cat that ate the canary expression that would certainly last for weeks.

"I wanna see you dance, Mr. Spock."

"I beg your pardon, doctor? Is this an additional requirement to my returning to active duty?"

The doctor winked at him, "Now there's an idea!" He laughed at the Vulcan's predictable facial expression of exasperation. "Nah, Spock. I won't do that to you. It's your choice a month's pay or you dance. I leave it up to you. The wager was for credits not dance steps and I'm an honest man."

Spock raised his eyebrow at that, however having no proof to the contrary he could not refute the doctor's claim. It seemed highly unlikely that the doctor's losing streak had suddenly been overturned on this, the final hand of the evening.

"Very well, Doctor." He rose to leave. Not commenting on which how he would pay his debt.

"Mr. Spock?" The doctor's voice stopped him before the door, "It is customary to pay up at the end of the game."

"Yes, doctor. However I am certain that you will agree that in view of the circumstances now is not the appropriate time."

"When will it be an 'appropriate time' then?" he responded quickly, not willing to let Spock off the hook just yet, especially since it was quickly becoming apparent that he had just gotten the Vulcan to agree to dance.

"Bones, let it go. We'll haggle about it another time." the captain had risen and was already heading to the door.

"I will most certainly notify you, Doctor" and without further discussion he turned to the door in step with the captain.

"Yeah, when pigs fly!" McCoy muttered to the exiting first officer as the doors shut behind the pair.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"You didn't!" Christine said. Her tone was torn between anger and amusement as she walked into the CMO's office the next morning.

The doctor was still chuckling. The Captain however gave a guilty start.

"I didn't what?" he looked up at her in mock warning, "You weren't eavesdropping on your boss were you? I'd hate to think I couldn't have a private conversation in my own office."

"Leonard McCoy, I swear!" She put down the pad for him to approve and crossed her arms. "If it was such a private conversation you wouldn't have had the door open. Sometimes I just can't believe the lengths you'd go to just to get an emotional response out of him. You're merciless!" she took the pad from him smiling, "I'm glad **I'm** not on your bad side!"

"Give him a break, you should've seen how Spock played! He nearly cleaned us all out!" the captain smiled over his coffee cup. "Besides it's all in good fun."

"Well what did you expect? You know, one of these days your 'fun' is going to backfire on you both!" she warned playfully wagging her finger at them.

"C'mon, Chris. Tell me there isn't some small part of you that'd just about kill to see him dance, just once. A waltz, a two-step, maybe a little mambo?" The doctor's eyes glinted mischievously as he raised his hands and took an invisible partner into a low dip.

"Humph! You of all people should know better than to listen to the rumor mill! Besides, I'd much rather see **you** dance." she winked picking up the pad and then turned on her heel and marched out of his office, narrowly missing Mr. Spock.

He was presumably looking for the captain.

She instantly went scarlet.

She silently cursed her fair skinned and ducked away.

She had the worst timing. She could go an entire month without even saying his name, but the instant she had finished even the most innocuous of comments about him he was just _there_.

It was no wonder he avoided her so much.


	4. Chapter 4

Christine sighed heavily, hoping that it would help the tension slip away. They were finally headed home. 4 years 11 months and dozen or so days and she had stayed with Enterprise the whole tour. It was a bittersweet ending for all.

She stood for a long time checking her balance and making certain she felt completely centered. Yesterday she had attempted the same routine fresh from a 14-hour shift and had dove too aggressively into it. She had been very sore this morning.

"Computer, play audio recording Chapel 3."

A moment later the first haunting notes drifted down from the gymnasium's sound system. An advantage to working out so early in the morning was that she had the vast space to herself. She'd found that 0300 was perfect. The late shift was on duty and the day shift was still asleep. She didn't worry about anyone seeing her and questioning her about the music or the dance.

After 6 months her interest had grown as her skill improved. Vulcans didn't do anything that they didn't do well. Dancing was no exception. It was a wonderful art form, a stress relieving and meditative activity that she had grown to adore.

In the beginning she had struggled with the silent, almost mathematical rhythm. That was quickly remedied when she incorporated Vulcan music in the routine. It was unorthodox, Vulcans didn't use music for meditation, but it was effective. Now she could finally move on to the more advanced skills.

She turned in time with the music, focusing her attention inward counting her breaths.

This routine was called the Flame. It was intended as a toning exercise as well as a teaching tool for primary school children about the ancient creation myth of Vulcan. For older practitioners, the vid had explained, it was used symbolically as a meditative tool for learning control of passionate emotions.

Christine enjoyed it because it was a challenging set that built on the skills she had already learned.

First position, Stillness. Then the Spark, transition to Stone then back to Spark. Hold the Air-stance for 14 heartbeats she reminded herself. Then she stretched out wide as the horizon, the Sky. She breathed deeply here, it was one of her favorite positions and the music, while not canon, slowed here and she always rested the full 3 measures.

She rose up slowly, the Fire of the sun on the horizon. Her mind filled with the red light of the sun. She came to her feet standing tall as the Tree of Wisdom that sprung up from the Sands of Time.

Slow calming Water - a full forward bend until she rested her hands on the floor beside her feet. Her feet rose up slowly, the Mountain pose. Spark, her left leg bent slowly until her pointed toe met her knee.

Today she would attempt the advanced posture for the first time as part of the routine.

She breathed in slowly, deeply, allowing the blood to flow to her face. Then slowly she bent her arms. Amazed at herself she felt her hair begin to touch the mat as she approached a full press. For a moment she wasn't certain she could finish, her arms were beginning to tremble from the effort.

Finally the music rose up. She could hear the approaching crescendo. She drew in a breath, imagined a red stone planet filled with the power of pure energy arching through the dark sky in great dancing Sparks. The drums seemed to pound in time with her own heartbeat as it throbbed in her ears.

With a final powerful inhalation she imagined the eruption of T'Kuht and she exhaled hard forcing her arms to push her up. Her legs seemed to find their own way as she landed neatly in the Tree pose - fully erect, hands at her sides once again. She smiled to herself and slowly opened her eyes, proudly regarding her form in the long mirrored wall.

She had done it!

She was still breathing very heavily, but she noted calmly that her position was correct as the last notes of the tune faded.

A figure near the door of the gym caught her eye. He stood stock still, his expression emotionless as always.

It was Spock.

Damn it all to hell!

Of all people to come wandering in on her. She knew he would recognize the routine or at the very least the music. She'd probably violated some Vulcan taboo by combining the two.

Her already red face flushed crimson. She grabbed her towel from the floor near her feet and beat a hasty retreat, wishing she could control her feet as well now as she had a few moments ago.

As she exited the room, not meeting his glance she was sure she heard him say, "Fascinating."

Why couldn't this infernal mission be over? God, how she had gotten tired of all of the condescending stares and rumors from the crew. To say nothing of Spock treating her like some lovesick time bomb.

One day at a time she had managed to get through this last year. She was certain that the hullabaloo had finally died out. Now he had to walk in on her.

A Vulcan would certainly never forget but she had managed to lay low long enough he may have been able to forgive her the indiscretion of PSI2000. That is if Vulcans even did such things as forgive. But after being caught in the act of a very Vulcan dance form she was pretty sure she had unwittingly sealed her fate of being forever remembered as obsessed with him.

Oh hell, it probably was just as well.

She had received the final word from Starfleet Medical this morning, her school credits had been updated and the final determination had come in. She only needed a year's worth of classes and she'd be certified a doctor. Although she had tested out of more than enough course work, Starfleet policy said she had to attend a minimum of a year in order to qualify. They did agree to waive her internship however based on her work as a practitioner.

In a few more days it would be over and she wouldn't have to worry about Spock anymore.


	5. Chapter 5

He did not check his appearance, as he knew it was satisfactory. He simply exited his quarters and headed to shuttle bay 4.

It was not a mandatory function hence the dress code - formal civilian attire.

The official decommissioning ceremony had taken place yesterday evening.

The shuttle bay had been transformed into a grand ballroom, complete with chandeliers brought via shuttle from Earth. Starfleet Quartermaster had not wanted to risk even a single molecule out of place. There was also a decadent buffet of what appeared to be every possible Terran food and alcoholic beverages from every continent on the planet.

It was a grand affair.

The entire crew, it would appear, had decided to remain on board for one more night in honor of the occasion.

A full orchestra was positioned against one wall in a specially constructed bandstand. Thick red carpet had been laid everywhere but the dance floor. Mr. Scott had worked many long hours on the project.

The partygoers included family and friends of the Enterprise crew as well as dignitaries from various districts on Earth. This morning the announcement had come in that the Federation's President would be attending as well. The additional security necessary had almost precluded his attendance. However in the end, Federation security had stepped in and taken over, and for once Spock was grateful. He and Sulu had coordinated ship's security with Federation forces to make for a seamless and secure party.

He thought again about his own plan for the evening.

It was not logical. That much was certain.

Perhaps it was the illogic of it that appealed to him so much. It had become somewhat satisfying to take his friends by surprise with an uncharacteristic display.

He had decided that tonight was the night to - how had McCoy put it? Oh yes – 'pay up'.

Although he had never been able to prove his contention that the good doctor had cheated, he would not break his promise.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

_"Full House, Mr. Spock! That's just great! You're really getting the hang of this game."_

_"Thank you, Doctor. Now if you will excuse me."_

_"Not so fast there, Son. I think it's a mighty fine hand, but I'm afraid it just doesn't beat a Royal Flush."_

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

The image of the cards spread neatly on the round green table was still as fresh in his mind as that day only 2.6 months ago.

He did not sigh, however.

The doctor had won, and this was his final chance to "pay up".

So tonight, Spock would dance.


	6. Chapter 6

It happened so fast.

They didn't set off a single alarm. They weren't picked up in any sensor scans. They came in as silent as death.

One minute the eyes of the Enterprise were fixed on the dance floor staring in disbelief as their proud stoic First Officer led a blushing Head Nurse out to the center of the dance floor.

In the next instant, they were gone.

Spirited away by an undetected transporter.

The Captain's voice pierced through the stunned silence, "Red Alert! Enterprise Crew to your stations! Security to the dance floor now! We need to get the President out of here!"

Claxons sounded and the crew scrambled.

Military and civilian alike rushed to stations over turning chairs upsetting wineglasses.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Spock turned quickly, but not quickly enough. He caught a blow to the chin from an iron green fist only a fraction of a second after fully materializing. He fell roughly against Christine. They fell sprawling to the floor.

The Orion stared in disbelief for a moment at them. Realized as they fell in a sprawl who they were, or more precisely who they **weren't**.

His temper exploded.

"What the fuck is this?" He shouted punctuating his words with merciless kicks at the fallen pair.

Spock found himself impossibly tangled in Christine's formal gown. He tried to block her from the blows as much as he could.

He suddenly freed one hand and grabbed the assailant's offending boot.

A disruptor was pressed to his forehead, "Don't even think about it you pointed eared freak!" The man spat contemptuously at him.

Spock released the man's foot and was immediately rewarded with a blunt end of a phaser. Eyes fixed on the Orion's every move, he wiped a small trickle of blood from his lip.

Their assailant spoke again his voice became deadly calm. He spoke slowly as if to a child "Nicki, why do I have this fucking elf and his whore on my transporter pad?"

The short Tellarite behind the controls was squirming, his voice was small, "I dunno Sir. I targeted the Duranium tagged wine. This is what I got. It's not my fault, sir." He began to whine his voice quavered. His plea was lost on his commander as well as the giant Klingon at the door.

"Did..you..scan.. the bio signs..**BEFORE**...you...**transported**?!" A vein on his green brow pulsated a deep black.

"No." he squeaked realizing his grave error. He began to beg, hands forward head down, "Oh by the gods, sir. No. Please, no-"

The commander spat at him, "Shut up! P'nlan! Dispose of that **ptah**!"

The Klingon obeyed without hesitation, drew his disruptor and fired. The Tellarite screamed first in terror then in agony as he slowly disintegrated then disappeared.

The Commander grabbed Spock by the hair roughly, not removing the disruptor from his head. "Shit! What the hell good are _you_!"

He shoved Spock down kicking at him again. Christine gasped as his boot impacted her in the stomach instead.

The man turned and stomped angrily out the door.

He absently ordered as the doors were closing, "Take care of them too!"

The Klingon stepped forward a bit, disruptor already drawn.

Without preamble he raised it and fired.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Christine awoke in pain, not entirely sure how it was that she was alive.

There was a sound nearby.

Suddenly rough hands pulled her up. She saw another pair roughly lift Spock's limp body from the floor nearby.

Was he dead? Unconscious?

His face was bruised. A trickle of blood thick and green had dried on his brow.

They had been unconscious for some time. Her mind raced trying to calculate how long it took Vulcan blood to oxidize and coagulate. Forty-five minutes? Perhaps as much as an hour, depending on the conditions.

Maybe he was faking, to gain some sort of tactical advantage. She cursed herself for not thinking of it earlier.

She tried to calm herself, to look for an opportunity as well.

_Never surrender_. That's what they trained in Starfleet Academy. _Always look for an escape._

Her captors dragged her unceremoniously by her arms, not bothering to check to see if she could walk. The burly Klingon from the transporter room, P'nlan, carried Spock in one immense arm gripped tightly around the Vulcan's chest. He carried him like a rag doll.

Christine could see a pulse in the Vulcan's neck.

Not dead then just faking it. That must be it. Vulcans are so much more durable than humans are. It seemed impossible that it could be anything else.

What could he be planning? She wished she could know, but she had faith that it would be all right.

They were dragged to a room several doors away from the transporter room. They tossed her to the floor. The Klingon pulled Spock with him as he scooped a tankard into a giant cauldron of putrid smelling liquid.

Christine turned looking around the room. She counted nine men of various races, all quite obviously pirates.

They leered hungrily at her.

The Orion commander entered jauntily.

The men pried their eyes from the female in their midst and gave him their attention. He too dipped into the vat of blood wine, took a deep draught letting some of it spill down his chin to his filthy tunic. He swayed. He was already quite drunk.

"Well boys, it would appear that our little job has been derailed by the late Nikart of Tellarite. However, as we so seldom have guests-" he drug the back of his hand across his face smearing the red wine stain across his cheek, "-P'nlan thought it would be a shame to waste this opportunity to..._entertain_."

He moved toward Christine and the whole room leaned forward in anticipation.

Christine tried to look fearless.

She felt her heart pound in her throat. Her thoughts raced, searching for something in her Starfleet training to help her.

Her eyes darted around the room, searching for something, _anything_.

'Look for an escape, don't give up. Just gotta stay alive.' She felt the fear grow in her chest.

She could hardly breath from the weight of it.

He was only a foot away now. He didn't even smirk. He simply reached down and picked her up by the hair.

Spock sprung forward catlike, but he was not fast enough for the Klingon's reflexes.

He cleared P'nlan's massive arms, but was easily struck down by his iron fist.

It seemed impossible that Spock's sudden action had been so easily detected.

Now suddenly he was fighting for consciousness. A new wound flowed green freely from his shining black hair.

P'nlan reached lazily for the Vulcan again, as if he were a mischievous pet, picking him up by the back of his neck. The Vulcan tried to extricate himself, but the Klingon's mass was far superior and in a moment he held Spock once again to his chest. His grip was so tight now, covering both of Spock's arms that the Vulcan could no longer draw more than small gasps of breath.

The Orion laughed at the sight. He held Christine's face, forcing her to watch Spock's defeat. She met his eyes briefly, searching for some sign or signal.

Surely he had a plan of escape.

Her panic grew when she found nothing resembling hope there for her. His eyes were as closed off and controlled as ever. He appeared to be fighting for consciousness.

The commander abruptly pushed her to the table.

Christine fought the scream of terror that was choking her. She wouldn't do that not here not in front of Spock.

'I am a _Starfleet_ _Officer_. I will _not_ surrender', she thought angrily at the paralyzing horror.

Thick green gray hands ran roughly over her and when they came to the neck of her gown they abruptly grabbed and pulled, tearing the zaffre velvet away.

The men crowded forward hungrily at the drunken cry, "Boys the buffet is open."

She fought against the violent attack with all her strength and training. But the hands of the gang were too numerous.

Her hands were pulled impossibly high above her head; her legs each pulled apart by different onlookers. The first descended on her and she could not stop the cry of pain that he forced from her as he ripped into her.

He laughed and grunted, running bruising hands over her body slapping her roughly when she became too silent.

'They cannot touch my soul. They cannot touch my soul. I am stronger than this - I will survive this - they cannot touch my soul - they _cannot_ touch my soul.'

She gritted her teeth against the cries. Eventually her gasps were lost in the loud raucous chants of the first man's name.

When The First finished with a satisfied grunt he pulled away and was quickly replaced by another.

Eternal minutes passed.

Christine closed her eyes and fought to keep her face from the putrid smell of blood wine and sweat and semen. She felt herself gag at the pain and horror of the assault that seemed to never end.

She tried to block it all out, tried to close herself off from it.

She wanted so much to just close her eyes and feel nothing. But nothing she could think, no words she could say in her mind would block out the pain. And no one would stop the assault.

Six...there had been six now.

She kept her eyes closed tightly, now not even trying to stop the sounds that escaped her.

It hurt more than she could ever have imagined each one worse than the next. Just when she thought it was almost over another mounted her.

Her fingers quickly went numb in the grip of the onlookers, then her feet. The throbbing pain of her bruised flesh burned between the horrible pounding thrusts. She felt as if her bones were being slowly pounded apart.

Her gasping breaths only seemed to excite them more. Her silence brought punishing blows.

She didn't look for Spock, couldn't bear to see what his eyes had in them. She knew he could see her. The Klingon bastard that held him had carefully positioned himself nearby to watch her humiliation.

She could hear him muttering, "You like that, don't you Vulcan?"

'They cannot touch my soul, they can only hurt my body, not my soul.' It was her silent mantra.

The sixth moved off her spewing his vile semen on her belly in delight. He belched loudly and staggered away toward the wine, haphazardly adjusting his trousers.

Christine felt battered and weak, she could barely breathe and yet the gasps kept coming. She fought the desire to give in, knew that this horrible assault could not last forever.

All things end.

_All_ _things_.

She gasped for air against the tightly controlled sobs that burned in her chest.

She opened her swollen eyes a bit. She could see across the room to where Spock was and what she saw tore away the final shreds of hope that she had been clinging to.

Spock was limp in the Klingon's arms. His face a mask of green blood that still oozed from a gaping wound on his forehead. He had obviously not been left off the 'entertainment' bill.

His eyes were swollen from a beating she had not been aware of.

And he was naked.

Pieces of his regal black tunic littered the floor.

The Klingon held him tightly around the chest pinning his arms to his body.

Spock was gasping; his face screwed tight, eyes shut in pain.

At first Christine thought it was because he couldn't breath. Then her heart sank as she realized that P'nlan's pants were bunched at his knees and he was moving and grunting under the Vulcan.

Her vision swam at the horror.

Her mind screamed, 'Where the hell is the rescue? My god they always come, they _always_ come! Where are they?!'

Adrenaline rushed through her veins as the fury rose in her. She rolled over swiftly taking advantage of the confusion that followed each rapist as the others decided who would be next. She moved with all her will to save Spock from the animal that held him.

Hard hands caught her and the Orion commander slammed her face down into the table.

Christine tasted her own blood, wretched at the swimming pain.

"Joth, you're not playing! C'mon she's nice! She squirms and everything." Her Orion captor leaned over her, licking her shoulder. She shuddered in revulsion then silently cursed herself for even responding to him.

A short fat hairless Tellarite stepped forward; his eyes were small black beads in the sea of his oily pink skin.

He mumbled something, not looking up from his hoof-like hands.

"I promised you a what?" He reached for Joth, pulling the pudgy man to him in a fatherly embrace, one hand still pinning Christine to the table.

The fat man mumbled again.

"Oh yes, the Deltan slitch. Well I'm sorry Joth but your Horta-fucking brother kinda screwed it up for us, now didn't he?" His fatherly grip tightened painfully on the pink alien's neck eliciting a piggish whimper from the Tellarite. After a moment the Orion chuckled drunkenly, "But if you don't like this little bitch you're just gonna have to wait until our next raid."

Then with a sudden look of cleverness he laughed, released the Tellarite and moved his hand to his belt. Christine steeled herself for another assault.

It didn't come.

Instead he produced a large lethal looking knife. It was unmistakably Klingon. He raised it to her head.

She cried out, unwilling to die silently.

"Of course if you'd like I can help spark your imagination." He gripped the back of her neck more firmly pushing her face hard on the table. He moved the knife to her now matted golden hair and began to hack the locks away in great chunks.

Handfuls of hair fell over her face. Someone she could not see picked up a small pile of it and tossed into the air laughing drunkenly. The knife quickly dulled and the blade scraped long painful marks in her scalp.

She didn't allow herself to cry. 'It is only hair they cannot touch my soul. They can only hurt my body, not my soul.'

She felt a trickle of blood slip down her temple and slide down her brow across her forehead.

Then there was an odd sensation of cold air on her bare scalp as the last of the thick locks fell away. A loud thud of the knife on the table indicated that the task was complete.

He twisted her over onto her back roughly spreading her legs again and made room for the fat pale Tellarite.

Across the room the Klingon flung Spock to the floor like a piece of trash. He landed hard on his hands and knees, gasping for air.

His eyes flew wide as he seemed to reel against the pain.

He glanced up at Christine for an instant their eyes met.

It was a moment of immediate consensus.

_It was over. _

_There would be __**no**__**more**__. _

It was obvious that there was no escape. There would be no rescue in the nick of time. _This_ was all they had.

This was it.

Now it would stop.

The dazed look in his eyes cleared, the tears in hers had long dried.

There was no signal, no need for telepathy. They just knew what they must do.

As one they moved.

No one could say who moved faster.

Christine's hands found the carelessly discarded knife and in single vicious stroke eviscerated Joth, blood and gore sprayed her face. For several seconds the raucous gang was either too drunk or too stunned to react.

Spock twisted faster than possible, his hands found the Klingon's throat and in a single murderous motion broke his neck, pulling too hard and too fast, tearing skin and muscle.

Christine seemed to fly onto the table. She sliced through the air cutting the throat of the First rapist and slicing another of the assailants across the eyes in a single frantic motion.

Angry confusion erupted as one after another attempted to grab her and pull her from the table. She moved with the anger and adrenaline that only hours of torment could have fueled.

She was a killing machine in motion, with nothing to lose and only one goal, to inflict as much damage a possible before she died.

Spock too let loose his own fury.

He spun from Klingon, before his body had fallen and he descended on the nearest marauder, his eyes were full of hate and death.

He struck the human with all the force of his fury, felt the man's jaw break, knew he was dead before he fell backward against the bulkhead. An instant later he felt with great satisfaction, the neck of a third man collapse in his powerful grip.

They killed very well together.

It was a murderous thought that surprised him. Almost as much as the satisfying sound of bones crushing in his fingers.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see a blur of motion - a man behind Christine pulled a disruptor from his tunic.

With an animal like cry, Spock dove madly across the table narrowly missing her legs, his hands forward ready to close on this man's throat.

Time seemed to stand still.

A dizzying swirl of light filled his vision. He was certain the disruptor had fired.

Then -

A transporter beam caught them both.

The goddamned cavalry.

Spock saw the disruptor flash even as the room disappeared. His momentum unbroken by the transporter beam, he slid into the wall of the transporter alcove with a heavy thud.

Christine spun around with lightening speed, faced the Federation security contingent. In her hand the bloodied knife, murder in her eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

_Christine turned lightly._

_The room, alight with candles and crystal seemed to be the silent vastness of space itself. Then from somewhere far away an orchestra began a Terran waltz. _

_Everywhere there were long gowns and formal suits that reflected the combined heritage of an entire starship. A formal ball in honor of the return of the legendary Enterprise. A great send off for the end of 5 years of history._

_Christine was gliding across the floor to her table._

_The Federation's President had a charming smile and glowing cheeks (from the freely flowing wine, no doubt). His laughter was light and musical and carried across the room. His Deltan companion courteously extended her hand to Christine. She had never met a Deltan before. They were such a beautiful people. _

_"Lieutenant Ilia." She heard herself say as she reached a hand in greeting. _

_The President swayed. _

_Several people tried to catch him before he fell but he tumbled forward nonetheless. His wine seemed to fly from the glass at her._

_Christine looked down in horror at the zaffre velvet of her dress. Droplets of amber liquid hung on the fabric, sparkling like jewels._

_A deep baritone voice spoke in her ear like a dream._

_"Are you all right Miss Chapel?"_

_She turned slowly. Her eyes rose up from the floor taking in every inch of his beautiful form. _

_He wore dark almost charcoal colored trousers and a traditional Vulcan tunic in black with charcoal iridescent lettering down the front and circling the large sleeve cuffs. _

_In the light of the candles he was impossibly handsome, shining like carved obsidian._

_"I'm fine, Mr. Spock. Just a little spill but I'd better go." She felt her heart race. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. _

_It was the last night that she would have to endure the scrutiny of the Enterprise. She wouldn't embarrass herself by acting like a lovesick ninny._

_"Will you return?" his words surprised her. _

_She faltered._

_"I, uh. I hadn't planned on it. I really need to..." She wanted to tell him that the gown would be ruined by the wine. She wanted to say something intelligent. But all she could think was that everyone, every single person in the room, was looking at her._

_"Then will you do me the honor of a dance before you depart?"_

_She tried to swallow, tried to speak. _

_Felt the words get stuck in her throat like sand._

_She felt that if she did speak she would surely wake from this dream and she didn't dare._

_She nodded slightly._

_His hand was there quite suddenly, extended out to her. _

_She was reaching for him, to ...dance with him. _

_Finally to dance with him._

_But she couldn't reach him. _

_The further she reached the further away he seemed._

_He was just too far away. _

_She watched her hand as it tried to bridge the gap in the room. _

_A wave of cold terror flew through her._

_She looked up and met his eyes._

_He nodded imperceptibly and she spun around. There was a knife in her hand - there was blood everywhere - she screamed and her voice was that of a wild animal._

_"Nooooooooo-"_

Dark hands caught her.

Uhura.

She was here, on Earth. It was over.

It was just a dream. She was still shaking.

She blinked, struggling once again to breathe. 'It was just a dream, let it go.' She thought to herself.

Christine lay back on the crisp white sheets.

For a moment only the hiss of the circulation system and her thunderously pounding heart broke the silence. She raised her hand to her head, checking once again.

It was still bare, as she knew it would be. Smoother now than the pirates had left it. The cuts and scrapes healed by Starfleet's best medical care.

"Thanks Ny." her voice sounded strangely calm though her throat felt as if it was on fire from the tears stuck there.

Her friend patted her hand and moved back to the chair where she had been keeping silent vigil for the last two days.

She smiled in the same sad way that she had from the very beginning, but remained silent. No words were necessary between these friends.

Christine's eyes fell to the electronic pad on the table next to Uhura. She raised an eyebrow in Vulcan fashion quite unaware of how very alien she appeared, bruised and swollen with a shaved head.

Uhura lifted the pad into view.

The book list for Christine's medical classes.

Uhura smiled sheepishly, "You caught me. I was going to have them all loaded before you woke so you would be all ready for school."

Her friend chuckled in response. It was an odd sensation that seemed to catch with the tears in her throat. She tried not to think too much about its hollow sound.

It would take time.

Fortunately there was a commotion in the hall that distracted her from her train of thought.

Dr. McCoy could be heard swearing at Dr. Birdseye.

George Birdseye, the CMO of Starfleet Medical appointed as head physician for this case due to the high level of visibility.

Only Starfleet's best for its fallen heroes or something like that.

Dr. McCoy had cried foul but was outranked. Then he was immediately appointed consulting physician due to his expertise with these particular Enterprise officers.

The door to her room hissed opened.

A tall lanky gray-haired doctor entered, Dr. Birdseye. He was trying to distance himself from McCoy's unceasing verbal tirade.

"Damn it George, I don't care if he spent 2 **months** in a healing trance he wasn't ready to leave!"

The older doctor wheeled angrily, "Bones, he's an adult he can make those decisions for himself!"

"You're his **_doctor_**!" he spat back.

"There was no medical reason to keep him! Here, read his chart." He thrust a data pad at the Enterprise's physician. "Show me how I could have kept him!"

McCoy pushed it back. "You're his superior you could have ordered him!"

George sighed angrily through a clenched jaw. "Not anymore. He resigned his commission. I told you he's headed back to Vulcan and there's nothing we can do to stop him."

Christine gasped.

Spock had left? Just like that?

McCoy glared at him for a long time then stomped out angrily muttering. No matter what kind of head start that fool Vulcan had, he wasn't going to let him just run off like that.

As the door closed she heard something about finding Jim and getting the fastest shuttle for Vulcan.


	8. Chapter 8

_Spock turned._

_The music that filled the gymnasium was haunting and dramatic. He recognized it at once. An ancient Vulcan opera, a historical tragedy of T'Kuht and her lover. _

_0230 ship's time only a week before docking at Starfleet for the final time. He expected to find the gymnasium deserted. _

_He moved to leave, to allow her some privacy for her exercises but the motion of her arms seemed somehow familiar. _

_She paused, leaned forward slowly her motion impossibly controlled. Her hands met the mat. She smoothly continued her forward motion slowly lifting first her right then left leg. _

_She rose up, slowly into the mountain position. _

_She was performing a routine of D'vun Kaltor. A meditative dance form still taught on Vulcan in primary school. _

_This sequence however, was hardly primary school level. She had obviously been working for some time at this. Her legs tightly together, toes pointed to the sky, proud T'Kuht will not bend to the wind and the sun. _

_The next move was quite difficult and he felt oddly excited to see if she had mastered it. _

_Unbearably slowly she bent her arms, only her now labored breathing belying the effort it took to remain so controlled. _

_Her back was pure muscle and sinew. She bent one knee, bringing the point of her toe to her knee - The Flame. She held the position for three full measures of the slowly building melody. At the precise moment when the crescendo came she suddenly pressed hard on the mat and sprung up to land firmly on her feet. Her execution was perfect. He had never seen this routine executed live and as it was a meditative exercise, music was not normally used. _

_But she could not have chosen a better piece. _

_The music faded and she serenely opened her eyes. The calm control suddenly vanished. Her eyes betrayed her embarrassment and surprise. _

_She quickly grabbed her towel and darted past him._

_Spock heard his own voice as if from a distance, "Fascinating."_

_He turned to watch her go, to glimpse one last look at her surprisingly lithe form._

_She met his eyes from across the room. _

_Blue pools of compassion and love. _

_In the light of every adversity, she had always been compassionate and loving even when he had scorned her for it._

_He was suddenly overwhelmed by the compassion there. _

_He drew away from her, from this undeniably powerful emotion._

_Then her eyes changed. _

_Fear, pain, agonizing pain. _

_She cried out but never __**cried**__. She had maintained control, even here. _

_The silence was suddenly filled with obscene mutterings of Klingon. _

_Spock couldn't breathe. _

_He tried to move but couldn't. _

_His vision slowly narrowed to near unconsciousness. _

_She cried out, but would not cry. _

_She fought fiercely. _

_Why? _

_The body is only a vessel. It is logical to conserve the energy you have for the most efficient escape. _

_Still she fought._

_His vision swam before him, asphyxiation he noted clinically. Then there was the taste of copper in his mouth as another blow landed soundly on his face._

'_I am a Vulcan I am in control.'_

_Vile Klingon mutterings in his ear warred against his own mind's voice._

'_Control. I must have control.'_

_She cried out again. _

_He could hear her struggling, but he did not look up to her._

_Pain, on his neck. A bite, he felt the blood well on it and begin to slide down his neck. His mind reeled for a moment. There was some sort of significance to this action._

_Oxygen deprivation dulled his thoughts. _

'_Control, must stay in control. Must look for an escape.'_

_She cried out. _

_There was laughter in the room, the terrible laughter of madness._

_Cold. Pain. Vile obscene words whispered heavily in his ear. He noted dimly that there was something on the floor, a piece of cloth with Vulcan lettering on it. _

_He was so cold. _

_He could barely see._

_Suddenly there was such pain, as he had never imagined he would feel. The room rushed into clear focus and all around him was a nightmare. _

_He did not cry out. _

_Control, he clung to it as if it were his savior. He felt the iron restraint binding him down into the depths of a nightmare, fiery steel impaling him again and again and he did not cry out. _

_His vision began to narrow once again as he struggled for air. He must survive; he must control._

'_**Why?'**__ A voice screamed from somewhere inside him._

_Where was the logic in submitting to this insanity? What purpose did his passive Vulcan resistance serve here, in this madness?_

_It was apparent that his death was near. Its mark was everywhere around him._

'_No, It would be most logical to simply submit, to bide their time and plan an escape.' _

_The Klingon's rough rocking abruptly changed tempo to a more frenetic thrusting, the sensation was almost unbearable._

_A sound escaped him. _

_He told himself it was only an attempt to breathe. _

_The pain was so much. The putrid odor of blood wine and sweat mingled with the copper of his own blood. _

_She cried out again._

_The iron monstrosity jerked violently beneath him then threw him to the floor. _

_Oxygen rushed into his lungs, his brain quickly cleared. Color flooded his eyes and hatred infused him. _

_Gossamer wisps of gold fell slowly from above. _

_He raised his eyes to meet hers. The blue pools of compassion transformed once again._

_They spoke to him of control. _

_A different kind of control. _

_Control of how they were about to die. _

_They __**were**__ about die. Their usefulness had nearly run out. _

_The terror that had filled her eyes dissolved and was replaced by something terrifying. Her eyes closed briefly and when she opened them again he knew what it was to see the face of a Valkyrie._

_Spock too tasted the rage. It consumed him and suddenly there was no room for any control, only rage. He was the Flame and he would consume all around him. _

_He did not count the bodies that fell at his hands, only let the power of the Flame flow through him. _

_She fought as ferociously as his Vulcan ancestors striking them down as easily as if they were leaves in the wind. _

_Then he saw one move to strike her down, in her moment of righteous glory. He moved with power and purpose. She would not fall first Spock would not permit it. He had remained silent for too long. _

_The sound of his own murderous breath drowned out all else. He sprang forward. He could almost feel the man's head in his hands, knew that in a moment he would crush it like a child's toy. He could almost feel it - he was almost there - he reached-_

A soft warning tone from the comm unit roused him.

He had fallen asleep! He checked the time on the monitor before him, it told him what he already knew. Only 16 seconds had elapsed.

Still it was unthinkable that he should lose control once again.

Was he not a Vulcan? Could he not even control his own body? Had living among these fragile humans worn so deeply on his control?

"Computer, stop recording. Replay."

The small dark monitor sprung to life. His image filled the screen, the epitome of Vulcan, dark, angular stoic. After a moment his recorded self spoke. His voice was deceptively calm.

"I felt it necessary to communicate to you the motivation for my leaving. It is not something I wish to cause you - " Here he watched himself falter, felt his own irritation at this behavior rise and quickly checked the emotion.

It was illogical to allow one inappropriate emotional response to generate another.

His recorded self averted his eyes then looked again up at him and continued, "My motivation for leaving is entirely unrelated to you, Christine."

He swallowed hard. He had used her given name so easily. A part of him enjoyed the easy sound of it, the familiar name of a friend. He immediately squelched the sensation listening to what he had recorded.

"I have decided to study the Kolinahr. I have long sought this level of mastery and now I will be instructed in it."

A lie? Had he actually lied?

No, it was not a lie. He had certainly sought it, but for how long was misleading.

Control was something his father had taught him as a child. Something his mother had tempered with human love. But it had always been a constant in his life, a part of what it meant to be a Vulcan.

The Kolinahr was more than just control it was total mastery of all thought and feeling to the point of emotional absence.

He had only begun to see the need for such stringent mastery in recent days when his loss of control had come so easily to him. When the murderous thrill of it had sang in his blood and his body had responded with appalling ease. Then he had felt the need for something more than his abysmal control.

"I will be unable to be contacted once I reach the enclave on Vulcan." Here he paused for 5 full seconds, his face did not betray the internal conflict that he knew had taken place.

"I wish you Peace, Christine. -" Here he had paused again.

Fascinating, he watched as fatigue like a shadow swept over his face and his eyes glazed. Slowly the muscles of his face relaxed, lines that he had always known as part of who he was disappeared. He was mesmerized by the sight of the youth in his face, the softness of his jaw. For a moment the warm tendrils of fatigue returned and he mused that relaxed this way he looked like his mother's father.

The span of silence extended beyond the preset limit of the comm unit, it sounded a courtesy tone indicating in 15 more seconds it would automatically end recording. His recorded self started from slumber, for an instant his eyes held a glimmer of the rage that had betrayed him.

Then the recording stopped.

"Computer delete message and end transaction."

Such a display was disgraceful.

He would not tell her, he could not. Perhaps later, after he had a chance to rest, to regain some measure of control. Perhaps then he could tell her.

Then he could find the words to make her understand why he had to leave.

A message on the terminal lit indicating he should return to his seat.

He raised the hood of his cloak, did not suppress the sigh that rose up from him. He had invoked a little used Vulcan right to privacy that the commercial carrier had had no choice but honor. They had no record of who he was. He had covered his tracks well.

His human friends would not be able to stop him.

He carefully controlled his thoughts, drew himself up impossibly stiff and stepped out into the corridor to return to his seat.

In a few short hours it would be done.


	9. Chapter 9

Jim Kirk stared in disbelief at the blank monitor.

Gone.

Spock was gone. Just like that.

No message, no call, he just left.

He dragged his hands across his face angrily pushing aside the lines and angry tears he would never admit. His jaw bulged under his own fingers as he ground his teeth in frustration.

Vulcan-freaking-privacy. What the hell is that? You just have pointed ears and announce privacy and no one bats an eye. No questions, no explanations, just how-do-you-do here's your seat to Vulcan?

No one would help him, not even Sarek, damn him.

The soonest another shuttle was headed to Vulcan was in 7 hours and that was a commercial flight. He could hardly justify taking Enterprise while it was still part of the investigation. Although it was tempting as hell.

Uhura had been able to get a message through to the last three transports to Vulcan, but all of them had given the same response. They were unable to confirm or deny the presence of Mr. Spock.

Damn Bones. He wasted two hours looking at the spaceport. By the time he had called him Spock was long gone.

He ran his fingers through his hair pulling the short strands back hard against his head.

'Why Spock?_ WHY?_' He kept asking the empty place at his side. 'What does your planet can do for you that you can't get on Enterprise?' Damn he hated repeating himself.

If only-if only... If he'd only been there when Spock had awakened.

If only he had been able to find his friend sooner.

If only it had been Jim in that hospital bed instead.

He had read the initial security report until he had it memorized. How could this have happened? How, on his ship?

He commanded the greatest ship in the fleet with the best technology and the finest crew, but still they had failed.

No, he corrected himself _they_ had not failed.

He was the captain. If there had been any failure, it had been _his_.

**He** had failed.

And now Spock was gone.

And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it but let him go.

Damn it all.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" The amber eyes of her former captain were lined with concern and fatigue.

"Yes, thank you Jim. Now go!" she smiled good-naturedly. Her patience was wearing thin, however.

"If you're sure you'll be all right." The new Admiral Kirk didn't let go of her hands.

"Jim, if you don't let her go now we're gonna have to enroll you too!" George chuckled.

"C'mon Jim, I'll walk you back to HQ." Leonard put a gentle hand on his friend's arm. Neither of them wanted to let the nurse go but the doctor was resigned to it now. Jim looked at Christine one last time then turned to McCoy and with a nod they moved away.

"You have time for one more drink before your shuttle leaves?" Kirk asked his friend as they moved out of earshot.

Christine thought she heard the doctor say yes. She turned to Dr. Birdseye. He started to walk toward the main medical school building.

She followed his lead, "George, you're not gonna walk me to class are you?"

"Nah, I don't want anyone to think you're the teacher's pet."

She smiled, "Not a chance."

"I hope you know I'll be monitoring your progress." He said seriously.

"Oh I know. I've been studying up so I'll be a little ahead of the curve." She raised her data pad to show him the textbook she had been reading.

"No, Chris." He stopped walking and looked quite seriously at her, "I'll be monitoring your counseling. If you don't attend two sessions a week I'll pull you from class."

"George, I've already signed the contract, what more do you want?" she was exasperated. She had finally gotten here, over the protests of everyone, by agreeing to the psych sessions. She was starting two weeks late, but at least she was starting.

"I want you to get better, Chris. And I want you to be a doctor and take Len's place on Enterprise." He held up a hand to forestall her protest "Don't give me any cock and bull line about how you don't want to plan that far ahead. Len's leaving and we need a new CMO for Enterprise. You work your ass off this year and I'll assign you."

"George, I don't think that's- "

"Don't argue with me or I won't appoint you a nursing staff and you'll have to do the whole shebang on your own." He smiled like a father at her. "Now go to school and get some learnin'"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now go, you're late."

She looked up.

Ahead she saw nothing but possibilities.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Spock looked up.

Waves of heat rose up from the red sand before him, a swirling of red and gold indicated an approaching sandstorm.

He stood at the entrance to the enclave, a cool breeze from its shaded doors beckoned with the promise of relief from the noonday sun.

With one last look at the raging storm on the horizon he moved wearily to the door.

It was done.


	10. Chapter 10

The captain and doctor found a booth in a dark corner of the tavern. With two hours before the doctor's flight was due to leave, the two friends had nothing but time.

A freckled red head appeared moments after they arrived, "What's your pleasure, Gentlemen?"

The captain spoke up first, "Beer, an ale if you've got one."

The young woman smiled, "Would you like to see the beer menu?"

The captain flashed a smile in return and narrowed his eyes, turning on the charm. He responded in a low voice, "I trust you." Then he winked, sealing his fate.

The woman giggled and a blush rose up and colored her fair skin.

"And for you, sir?" She turned to the doctor. He grinned wryly, he didn't have a chance with the ladies when Jim Kirk turned was around.

"Club soda, if you please." He smiled sweetly nonetheless.

The little redhead met his blue-eyed gaze and smiled in return then turned to get their order.

"Not joining me, Bones?" his friend smiled amiably.

"Nah, I'm booked on a commercial transport. You know how they always over pressurize the damn cabin. I'll be too damned dehydrated when I get home to enjoy my grand daddy's bourbon." He drawled. Duluth was only a couple of hours away, but he wasn't willing to risk it being an unpleasant trip, not this close to home.

The pretty red head returned with their drinks.

They took their glasses in hand and raised a silent toast. For a moment each one was lost in thought.

"You sure this is what you want?" Jim began, not looking up from his glass.

McCoy chuckled, "You mean, after all these years and all my belly aching over being in the damned service _you're_ not sure? Of course I want to go home! So bad I can just about taste it. And if you were smart, Jim boy, you'd jump ship too."

"What would I do? Farm?" He laughed, taking a deep draught of the beer, "No, the stars are in my blood, Bones. My home is on the ship." He looked down into pool of rising golden bubbles. His voice quiet, "I just wish..."

"I know, I'm sorry." He truly regretted leaving the man who had been his best friend for 5 years. Through life and death they had been closer than brothers and it was difficult to see it come to an end.

Jim looked up. His eyes tinged with anger, but he quickly checked it. There was no need to end their long friendship on a sour note. No, he told himself quickly, this wasn't the end of their friendship. He wouldn't be that petty.

Jim smiled sadly, "It's alright, I know. There was nothing you could do."

The doctor appeared confused for a moment. Jim had been acting strangely all day. As if there was something he wanted to say. "There was nothing I could do about what?"

The captain's anger quickly returned, "About Spock."

Now it was the doctor's turn to feel irritated. He raised his hands and pushed the blame away, "Now hold on a minute, Jim. I thought we were through with that. You know as well as I do that he just up and left. I tried to catch him."

"Yeah, I know Bones." He shook his head sadly, trying to diffuse what was threatening to be another argument. He struggled to maintain a calm voice. "I just wish you'd called me, that's all."

"Jim I got a hold of you as soon as I could." He'd gotten as far as the local shuttle station, spent over an hour trying to find someone, anyone who could tell him when the next transport to Vulcan was leaving. Tried to find Spock, but hadn't found even a single lead.

"Not in time for me to stop him." Jim's jaw twitched in frustration. He kept his eyes on his beer.

"What makes you so damn sure _you_ could have stopped him? George couldn't and he's head of Starfleet medical. Security couldn't once he invoked that damned Vulcan privacy thing! Oh hell Jim, I don't even know if I could have stopped him even if I had caught up with him."

"But we'll never know will we?" He hissed. His tone was uncharacteristically bitter.

The doctor had grown weary of his friend's tantrum. He no longer cared whether he raised his voice. "Jim, grow up. Spock is not a child, and like it or not he's free to do as he wishes. You and I don't have to agree or approve. He's our _friend_ and we have to respect his decision. And if that means he's going to go hide under a goddamned rock then we have to respect that too."

"You're out of line, Bones."

"No, Jim. You're overreacting." He narrowed his steel blue eyes, "What's really going on here? Why is this so damned hard?"

"Bones, don't you understand, he's my friend. He was hurting and I couldn't help him. I didn't even get the damn chance to try."

The doctor raised his eyebrows disbelieving, "Really? _Your_ friend? He's **your** friend...is that why you've gone off the deep end? Tell me, Jim, is it Spock's pain you're so worried about or your own?"

"Bones-" he began warningly.

He wagged an accusing finger "No, you've been an asshole about this from the beginning and I've about had it. I'm your friend too, Jim. I've been here from the beginning but this time I just don't understand. What the hell is the problem?"

The captain clenched his jaw and looked sullenly into his beer for a moment, trying to find the words.

The doctor's eyes widened with disbelief and sudden revelation "You two didn't...I mean you two...you and he weren't..."

The captain's hazel eyes blazed suddenly up at the doctor. His words were venomous, "Chapel's right, Doctor. You should know better than to listen to ship's gossip." He fairly shook with anger.

"Jim, that's not what I meant."

"Bullshit! That's exactly what you meant. You're so goddamned jealous of the fact that Spock was a friend..."

"What?! Jim, I'm a doctor not a damned grade-schooler!"

"Not a very good god-damned doctor, or you would have been able to stop him!"

The doctor rose at this. "I've had about enough of this." He pulled on his civilian jacket in disgust. "You best be careful, Jim boy. You burn too many bridges, you won't have a friend when you need one."

"Go to Hell!" He spat.

The doctor just turned and left the anguished captain alone at the table.

After a long moment the great wooden door of the pub slammed shut. The lone captain slammed his fist on the table sending a loud resounding thud through the dark room.


	11. Chapter 11

A hooded figure followed the acolyte deep into the dark sanctuary of learning.

Only their soft footsteps and the rustling of the long dark traveling cloak broke the perpetual silence.

After a time they came to a small room. It had the appearance of being rough-hewn from the surrounding stone. A simple slab jutted from the wall, a sleeping pedestal. In the center of the room stood a simple computer interface terminal from which the occupant would receive a large portion of his higher learning.

The younger man did not ask if the accommodations were suitable. They were what they were, nothing more nothing less.

He simply turned away and left the dark figure alone.

The lone traveler raised his hands slowly to the hood.

He pulled it slowly from his head and surveyed the cell that was to become his home.

Without undue haste he removed the cloak. He hung it from a simple wooden hook near the door for later use.

With great economy of motion he removed the blue Starfleet uniform shirt and standard issue black trousers.

It was the only clothing he found when he had awoken in the Starfleet hospital.

Then he removed the hospital issue briefs and T-shirt that he had awakened in, folding them neatly and stacking them with his uniform.

Without a second thought about the illogic of destroying serviceable clothing, he deposited them in the disposal chute.

He stood for a long time there, naked.

An observer may have believed he was lost in thought, had there been anyone there.

The only sound disturbing the stillness of his new home was the ragged sound of his own breath as he fought to still the turmoil within.


	12. Chapter 12

Christine gulped down the last of her cafeteria coffee and sprinted up the stairs.

She was late. Somehow everywhere she went this week she had been late.

The hall was long and poorly lit. More light streamed in from the windows at the end than came from the old ceiling fixtures. The sunlight reflected brightly up into her eyes from the uneven tiles that marked the hall as late 21st century.

She read the numbers aloud as she walked quickly up the hall, "827, 829, 835. 835?" She stopped suddenly looking around in confusion, "Where'n the hell's 831?"

She looked left and right up the hall, looked behind her on the opposite wall, getting no help from the stony faces of the grand paintings interspersed along the hall.

She walked up the hall another 5 or 6 meters and there was another hall that ran perpendicular, but looked in every way identical to this one.

Now 15 minutes late she walked down this hall, cursing under her breath, "It's a goddamned maze in here!"

Shortly she came to another intersection in the hall. This one ran parallel to the first. Taking a chance that the missing rooms were on this side she darted down the hall and immediately found her room.

"Oh I see," she commented to herself sarcastically, "831 is between 833 and 830A, I should have known!"

She didn't quite quell the growl of frustration as she reached for the archaic doorknob and opened the door.

It did not creak as she had been sure it would. It would have been fitting, in this run down old relic to have to meet some crusty old Freud quoting codger with a creaky old door.

The room inside was surprisingly modern. Who ever had decorated it had gone to great lengths to make it appear larger than it was. It was bright and open and immediately the woman felt very comfortable.

A small sound behind the door revealed a second surprise. Her counselor moved easily into view, holding a steaming cup of fragrant tea in hand. He was Deltan.

He wore a long flowing white garment that gave the immediate impression of a Tibetan monk. He turned and smiled at the woman easily and gestured to the couches across the room.

"Have a seat, Christine Chapel. I am Amlarda'an. Most people call me Don." He smiled again.

As she sat in the far corner of the couch she noticed a cup of rich dark coffee on the table, steaming hot.

He nodded to her indicating that it was hers. She raised a curious eyebrow and picked up the cup. "You're not going to warn of the evils of caffeine?"

From his sleeve produced an electronic pad with practiced ease and reviewed it, "It is not on our agenda for today, however if you would like to add it.." he looked up at her. There was a twinkle in his eyes. He was teasing.

She laughed, instantly comfortable with him. "No, thank you Amlarda'an. I just want to take care of business and get back to my school work."

"Very well then, let us get down to business." He reached to a low table behind the couch and produced a small stack of things that he deposited in Christine's lap.

"What's this?"

"These are the tools that we are going to use to help you get well again. A journal, which I will not read even if you ask me to. You are required to use a stylus of your choice to mark in it. I have included some with different colors as well if you are artistically inclined."

She opened the book while he was speaking, ran her fingers over the creamy white sheets. They felt impossibly smooth.

"There is a sensor in the cover that will indicate to my monitoring software whether you have entered anything in it. Your contract will require that you use this journal once every 24 hours at a minimum. I don't care if you just put a single dot of ink on the page, you have to open it and do it every day. Do you understand this?" His easy demeanor had somehow shifted to fatherly authoritarian.

She nodded.

"This is a handheld audio recording device. I want you to record things in it for our discussion. Things you think of in the middle of the night or between classes." He showed her how to record. "You can also use it as an emergency communicator, if you need to speak to me immediately. Although I don't believe we'll be needing crisis counseling, will we?"

She snorted disgustedly, "I don't know. You're the expert, you tell me." She was still irked that George had insisted she do this.

The tall thin man stared at her for a long time, neither offended nor amused.

She began to regret her flippancy. He was only doing his job after all. Her anger was better directed at George than at this man who was employed by Starfleet's CMO to help her.

"Interesting response." He finally broke the silence. "Hmm." He made a note to himself on his pad then looked up at her and spoke again as if there had been no lapse at all.

"In the beginning you will meet with me for one hour 3 days a week. If you must miss a session you will tell me at least one hour in advance. Anything less than that had better involve a supernova or you will be considered in violation of your contract. Do you understand?" She nodded again. "Violations of your contract will be reviewed by your sponsor-"

"You mean George Birdseye."

"Yes, I mean George. He's been very clear about the fact that if you don't do this you will be expelled from medical school. This is a copy of your contract. Please keep it somewhere safe. It is our commitment to one another that we will work together to help you get back to what you'd rather be doing. Agreed?" She nodded reading over the electronic pad he had given her.

"Lastly, you will have assignments to work on, as you would in any class. If you do the work you get back to work sooner. But if you don't do the work, you don't get out of counseling. Got it? Good. Now, for tomorrow, come prepared to tell me why you're coming to visit me."

"What?!" She sounded exasperated, "You've got my damn file, you know why I'm here."

He smiled sweetly and rose. He walked to the door as if he hadn't heard her and opened it. "No, Christine. I've read your file and I know why you were ordered to be here. I want you to tell me why you're coming."

She blinked. What an odd man.

She gathered her things, leaving the coffee untouched and left the room. The door closed quietly behind her.

She stood there for a long time trying to understand what had just happened.

Finally, deciding it didn't really matter she smiled to herself and moved out into the sunlight.

This was going to be all right.


	13. Chapter 13

Though his body was fully rested meditation was more difficult than he had anticipated.

He had resisted the biological urge to slip into a healing trance once again. The nightmare of death was too close to his conscious mind. The hours of unconsciousness in Starfleet Medical were excruciating. He was unwilling to take the time to revisit the memories at this time. They were too dangerous.

He had come to purge the demons of emotion, not relive them.

He sat for hours seeking the most basic of calm. The anguish and fury swirled like wisps of dust on the periphery of his thoughts. Memories of the killing lust danced on his very fingertips. The air seemed to be infused with the thick damp scent of blood.

His arms and legs ached from the forced stillness. The more he focused his mind on his goal of stillness them more it seemed to protest him. Like a wild animal, caged then set free, it bucked and brawled against his futile attempts at control.

Finally he rose from the dusty corner of the dark stone room. His body ached and his bones crackled and popped as he moved. The sounds brought back the memory of the bones of pirates cracking in his hands. He pushed the thought away.

Stillness had become ineffective, his mind reasoned. It was time for action.

He lifted the simple white robe from the wooden hook on the wall where it had been left for him and slipped it over his head. He turned to the door, did not pause to wait for it to respond to his approach. It slid open without a sound and revealed a labyrinth of rough-hewn passages. He confidently turned right and headed out to the sun lit square.

Once there he found a broad smooth area and took up position for a simple and familiar D'vun Kaltor routine. The ancient art of meditative dance had served his people for millennia, bringing together the benefits of aerobic exercise and meditation.

It was logical enough, if stillness would not bring peace, perhaps movement would. That was his intent. But when he closed his eyes and began, he immediately found the images there emblazoned on his eyelids.

He lifted his arms to a perfect Tree position. He tilted his head back and promptly lost balance almost toppling.

Jaw tight, he opened his eyes and looked around for the barest on instants for his father's stern stare.

Swallowing against the emotional outburst that threatened, he began again. This time with eyes open, concentrating only on the muscular movements.

Through the first positions his form was perfect. Pace and rhythm mathematically precise. He brought his hands down to the ground swiftly and gripped the dry sandy stone, hands shoulder width apart. Slowly he tightened his abdominal muscles and lifted his legs perfectly piked to a 90 degree. He held the position for twice the required time out of sheer stubbornness. Then he inhaled deeply and brought his legs fully over his head. Blood began to rush to his head and the hissing sound of the desert took on a sinister memory triggering quality.

'Control' he whispered angrily to himself.

The desert whispered back. It whispered so softly and persistently that he had to hold his breath to hear.

It whispered something in Klingon. It whispered of his weakness and his shame.

It called him barbarian, little more than an animal.

A bead of sweat trickled from his forehead and dripped on the red sand. The hiss of the sand and the hum of the memories and the trembling of his own body were too much for his brief tenuous control.

He bent his trembling arms held his breath and exploded up and back to a standing position with an angry growl.

For a long time he stood trembling and breathing heavily.

His jaw tightened and he turned angrily back to his cell.


	14. Chapter 14

Leonard McCoy sat in a 50-year-old willow chair on the porch of his daughter's house watching the mist rise off the field in the early morning light.

The house had been a McCoy house for 200 years or so. Most of it had been renovated so many times that the place could hardly be called the 'Old McCoy' house any more.

He bit hard on the stem of the pipe in his teeth, tried to concentrate on the colors and the mist and not on the past. He wasn't succeeding.

He didn't turn when his daughter came out to join him. A cup of steaming coffee in her hand. He didn't stop puffing on the pipe. His personal protest against the comforts of retirement. Tobacco was strictly forbidden in Joanna's house. He didn't care.

"Dad, you sure you don't want to listen to your message? It's been sitting for a week." She handed him the pad. He ignored it, pretending to be lost in the sight of the rising sun.

They watched in silence as the dewy green grass changed from dark shadows to a lush bejeweled carpet. Wordlessly she turned and went back into the house.

It didn't hurt her as much now as it did the first time or the second time. She had come to believe it was just a hard thing to retire. She didn't want to believe it was the fact that they hadn't exactly been a close family.

He watched the door close. He almost stopped her this time.

He looked down at the pad, read the name of the sender and sighed.

He missed her. He wanted to contact her. He couldn't imagine what he would say to her. He didn't want to open the message because then he'd have to call her back.

He sighed again, thick gray smoke wafted forward like dragon's breath.

He pressed his thumb into the ID pad and watched the message play.

He shook his head in exasperation.

She sure looked tired.

He knew she would work herself too hard.

"Hey Len, how do you like retirement so far?" She was sitting at a desk in a comfortable looking apartment. "I'm finally settled in here. I shouldn't have bought a place, but I just couldn't resist it. You should see the view. On a clear day you can see Alcatraz from the balcony. At least that's what the agent said. It hasn't been clear enough for months. This spring it should be nice though.

School is great, but you wouldn't believe how young the students are I think my lab partner in micro cellular biology is 18! All they ever want to do is skip class and plan a social life.

I haven't seen Ny or any of the old guys since Enterprise left for their last mission. I still can't believe there's anyone in the big chair other than Jim Kirk.

I got a message from Faron and Powell a week or so ago. They told me your replacement's a control freak and sickbay's no fun anymore. Everyone misses you and sends their love.

You know I wouldn't want you to think I was trying to make you feel guilty or anything, but I haven't heard from you in a while. Drop me a line if you get a chance. I know grandkids are a handful and all, so I won't worry too much if you don't get a chance to right away, but let me know that you're okay.

Hey, look what I have!" She lifted a small box up to the view screen. It was full of sheets of creamy white paper with decorative gold designs at the top and bottom.

"Yes, you are believing your eyes, this is real paper and even an ink pen! I found an old fashioned stationary kit at the bookstore and knew you'd appreciate it. Of course I'm not sure how I'm going to get a letter to you yet! Do you think the Pony Express still delivers to Georgia?" She laughed gently at her joke.

"I just wanted to let you know that I was thinking about you, Leonard. I hope you're all right. 'Bye for now."

Then the pad went black.


	15. Chapter 15

Jim fumbled with the stylus trying to occupy his thoughts. It was too quiet. He must be out of his mind to be even considering it.

He looked again at the orders on the pad in front of him. He'd worked his ass off for the last 5 weeks trying to find every last one of the pirate net that had ripped apart his crew. Enterprise had managed to round up over a dozen small runners and leads to some of the higher levels of the Orion syndicate. It appeared that this was only the tip of the iceberg. The harder he looked the more he found. Like rats in a garbage heap, every time you turned over something another one would scurry out. But one ship couldn't do it all alone.

Now Starfleet was offering him an opportunity to accomplish what he had set out to do.

The letter began with some high praise of his abilities in the past 5 years, a glowing appraisal of his clean up efforts and an offer to make him the youngest Chief of Starfleet Operations in history.

Chief of Operations.

He would be able to finally do all the things he had ever wanted. He would be able to find and punish people like these Orion pirateers. He would never have to live with the knowledge that people like Kodos the Executioner roamed the cosmos. He could truly make a difference by bringing justice to the universe.

Nothing was keeping him on the Enterprise now that Bones and Spock were gone. Sulu had been accepted to Starfleet Intelligence Training. Checkov, Uhura and Scotty remained on Enterprise, but somehow it just wasn't the same. Hell, even Yeoman Rand had taken a job dirt side in base operations.

Why shouldn't he take the next logical step?

He mentally stumbled over that. Logical. There wasn't a damn thing that had happened in the last 3 months that was 'logical'.

He sighed. The promotion was already coming, he knew that. He'd been decorated so many times during his first mission there was really no question.

There was just one more step to take.

He read over the orders again. Chief of Operations for all of Starfleet.

Then he pressed his thumb on the 'Accept' frame and pushed Send on the message.

Admiral Kirk, Chief of Starfleet Operations.

He smiled. It had a nice ring to it.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Nyota Uhura heaved a heavy sigh as she waited for her comm channel to be confirmed. They were within range for a call to Earth and she was allocated 30 minutes.

The communications officer on duty signaled her and she leaned forward eagerly as Christine's image filled the screen.

"Chris! How are you doing Hon!"

Her friend beamed back at her, "Wonderful! What have you done with your hair? It really looks great."

Uhura lifted a hand to her head, very short naturally tight curls now covered her head. "Oh this? I'd like to say it was all my idea, but the truth is I was inspired by you."

"Me?" Christine ran her fingers through her own hair, now long enough to need some sort of care. She had decided not to change the color as she had on Enterprise. A new start deserved a new look. Her natural ash brown color seemed to suit her better anyhow.

"Yeah, something about getting older and wanting the natural look." She smiled and leaned back in her chair. "So tell me, how's school? How're you feeling?"

Christine smirked slightly, "Well if you're really interested in school I can go on for at least an hour about how young everyone is and how impossibly difficult the staff here can be. But you're more interested in how I'm doing aren't you?"

"Nah, you can tell me about the big mean doctors, but I won't believe you. I know George and he'd never allow them to push you around. And as for being surrounded by babies, don't even get me started! My relief is easily 10 years younger than I am!"

"I'd feel badly for you if I didn't know she was Kzinti." She responded dryly.

"Well you come sit on the bridge and live through being called 'Mom'!"

Christine clapped her hands in delight, laughing "Mama Ny! I love it! At least they say it to your face. After asking my bio molecular lab partner to turn off his personal palm pad I've been referred to as 'the old lady' by everyone."

"Aw, Chris. You should let the kids have their toys."

"It wasn't that he had it, it was that he kept playing some new game called dabo on it. He wasn't concentrating at all. He ruined our lab and cost me two hours of sleep making up for it. I should have just knocked it out of his hand." She growled.

Ny smiled again. "Well at least you're making friends."

"I wish I had someone to work out with."

"No volunteers to play the part of the piñata for your Kzinti sticks?"

"Nah, no one who yelps like you."

"I didn't yelp, you knocked the wind out of my lungs. Which I might remind you, was an illegal move on a novice like me."

"It wasn't illegal. It just wasn't fair."

"You want to argue semantics or do you want to whine about school?"

Christine paused and sighed lightly, "I sure do miss you, you know that?"

"Yeah, me too."

"How much time do you have left on subspace?"

"About 15 minutes. Why?"

"You should call your family. I don't want to use up all your time."

"They'll be fine and I'm already talking to family."

"Thanks."

"How _are_ you?"

"Better. Everyday a little better."

"Nightmares?"

"Not so much anymore." She lied, hoping her friend wouldn't see.

"How's your sessions going?"

"Well after the second one, I was ready to quit."

"Quit? Why?"

"Oh Dr. Wonderful asked me to write in this stupid journal every day and come prepared to talk about why I was coming to the sessions."

"Yeah? Sounds pretty reasonable."

"Sure if we had actually used any of it. He didn't even ask me why I was coming. We never even covered it."

"So?"

"What do you mean 'So'? He made me do all this work and didn't even ask me about it."

"Oh come on, Chris. You know what that was about."

"Yeah, he wanted me to make a decision to come for me not for George or anyone else."

"Uh-huh."

"What pisses me off is that I fell for it, like a first year cadet."

"You are such a child sometimes."

"Thanks Mom!"

"Hey now Old Lady, that's not very nice!"

The two friends laughed and chatted on until the comm officer on duty signaled Uhura that her time was up.


	16. Chapter 16

Leonard McCoy dried his hands on a small dishtowel and made a grandfatherly growl as he dived at a toddler rounding the corner. "Papa bear sees a little tiny baby bear. Rooooaaaar!" and crouching low he chased her squealing down the hall.

"Dad!" Joanne rounded the corner to reproach her father. "She's supposed to be in bed. Please don't chase her through the house like that, she'll be right back up if she thinks you'll play with her."

"Well _I_ know that and _you_ know that, but this itsy bitsy teeny weeny little bear doesn't know it." He made little tickling motions with his hand, threatening his giggling granddaughter through her mother.

Joanne grimaced.

It was nice to have her father playing with the children, but he just didn't know when to quit sometimes. She wasn't sure which was worse, a sullen father or an overly indulgent one.

But then he tilted his head and smiled. He could charm the blue right out of the sky, her mama used to say. She couldn't help but smile in return.

"Here. This came for you this evening. I think it's from Christine." She handed him a small flat white package. A letter. She shook her head as he took it. It still amazed her that people wrote on paper and waited until their little paper packages arrived. It seemed so slow and primitive. But it sure made her dad happy.

Then she turned and scooped up the runaway child and gently carried her off to bed humming and cooing the whole way.

Leonard rounded the corner when a voice on the news channel stopped him. The announcer was talking about Jim Kirk. As McCoy entered the living room he watched the streaming data at the bottom of the screen as it flashed bits of info about the live videoconference. The president of the Federation was talking about the Orion syndicate and how their despicable acts against the crew of the Enterprise was deplorable and despicable.

Leonard thought a few colorful adjectives of his own as he read the headlines.

CAPTAIN KIRK PROMOTED TO ADMIRAL AND APPOINTED HEAD OF STARFLEET OPERATIONS.

'Well I'll be damned.' He thought to himself.

ENTERPRISE NAMED FLAGSHIP IN FIGHT AGAINST TERROR

McCoy wondered who would be appointed captain.

The President gestured to someone beside the podium and Admiral Kirk rose and moved to the microphone. McCoy was shocked at what he saw.

It looked as if Jim had lost 10 pounds and despite the press conference make-up he was positively haggard looking. He moved stiffly to the microphone.

"Gentlemen, I accept this great honor with humility. I promise you that I will do everything in my power to bring back the security and piece of mind that the Federation has enjoyed for so long. I have already selected a staff of the galaxy's finest security agents. Together we will weave a web of peace that will restore balance to the Federation. Let me tell you, what was once a small two-bit parts smuggling ring has grown to a great festering wound in our society. The Orion syndicate didn't just hurt my crew, they hurt every member of Starfleet, every free person in the Federation. They struck at the heart of our belief in what is sacred and secure. They tried to tear down our very society when they attempted to kidnap our President. They tried... and they failed. They do not understand what they have done, but they will. The Federation has brokered peace on countless worlds. We are a union of peaceful people and we welcome the universe into our brotherhood. But we will not tolerate terror. We have tried diplomacy, but the Orion syndicate is unwilling to enter into civilized discussion. We have tried posturing, but they do not understand our might. I tell you now they will understand it. I will make it my mission to find every member of the Orion syndicate and bring them to justice for what they have done. Not just for Commanders Spock and Chapel, but for all the victims of the syndicate. For the children on the Mars colony who last year suffered from the tainted vaccines that the syndicate sold their parents. For the hundreds of Orion slaves that still know only terror at the hands of their masters. For the thousands of men, women and children who have simply disappeared for not paying their 'dues' to the syndicate. I promise you I will bring them to justice and restore peace to the Federation."

McCoy shook his head sadly, "I hope you know what you're doing, Jim." And turned off the video feed and walked away to read his letter.


	17. Chapter 17

Spock moved into the communication booth. He had decided that now after just over a month it was time.

But after a long moment, staring into the blank screen he began to doubt once again.

He leaned back against the data booth wall. He did not bother to squelch the heavy sigh, as no one could hear him in the private comm booth.

He knew he should send a message to her.

She should know she had earned that right.

However she may never understand his motivations even if he did send the message, his voice of reason continued to battle with his unyielding sense of fairness.

Too many days of silence had made words difficult to find. And it was certainly difficult to put his thoughts into words. That was the crux of the matter.

_He_ knew his decision was logical, but as a human, she might never understand without the words.

He paused once again. Now he questioned his motivation.

Why was here? What did it matter if she understood?

It mattered.

He could not say why, it simply did.

It was important that she understand. She had endured much in the years on Enterprise. Years of bearing the brunt of ship's gossip and scorn with dignity that befitted a Vulcan. Her poise in the face of danger, her control, it demanded an explanation.

It was unsettling how much he cared about her understanding.

Why was it so important? He was certain he would never see her again. He had no intention of ever leaving Vulcan.

Suddenly that thought pained him too but he brushed it aside.

From the moment he awoke from the healing trance in Starfleet Medical he had known he would return to Vulcan.

It was a matter of logic he told himself. It was logical to return to the one place that would bring him true control.

So he had left everything behind. Everything that had ever held significance.

It was necessary.

He cast off all that held even the remotest of passions for him. It was the only way.

No one had stopped him though he had been certain someone would try.

It was necessary. It was logical.

And yet how could he begin to explain that to her?

Why did he feel the need to?

Why did he have this one desire, this one emotion, this flickering unyielding need?

That thought was as bitter as every thought he had since awakening.

It was not the assault that drove him away from his former life. Vulcans know that the body is a vessel for the mind. It can be controlled, mastered but it did not reflect the state of the mind.

In his five years on Enterprise he had experienced only a few of the brutal tortures in practice in the galaxy, though he had seen the results of several others. This had been his first encounter with rape.

As a method of torture it was quite effective. It surprised him, in light of his Vulcan disciplines and Starfleet training that he had been so affected by it.

Indeed he had even briefly wrestled with the sensation of hatred for his Klingon assailant in the first hours after the assault. But like all other emotions he had experienced he quickly controlled it.

It was not the brutal assault that drove him away.

It was not the hatred. No, he had mastered the hatred.

It was something much more dangerous.

Joy.

He had experienced joy when he killed. It was a joyful animalistic frenzy, a blood lust. It was that which sent him in search of control.

Vulcans can kill. With sufficient logical reason they are quite efficient killers. In all of his years in Starfleet, he had killed only a few times and only when absolutely necessary.

But in the moment that the Klingon's body fell, Spock had felt an ancient rage that was stronger than anything he had ever experienced. Not even the mating lust of the blood fever could compare.

The most terrifying memory was the sensation of furious disappointment that his fingers had not closed on his final victim's throat.

How could he explain this to her? How could he find the words to make her understand?

Why did he feel the need to satisfy this one emotional desire? He had not spared a thought for his friends. He had severed those connections, those memories with a surgeon's precision. Why was this last flickering emotion so hard to kill?

He pressed his lips into a tight line and sighed once again.

Then without another thought on the issue he rose and walked silently back to his chamber to begin meditation once again.


	18. Chapter 18

Long thin shadows marked the floor of the living room.

She walked quietly in the darkened room as if her own footsteps would re awaken the dreams that had roused her.

She tiptoed into the kitchen, her kitchen. Mentally it was a hard transition to make this solitary existence.

The apartment was great there was no doubt about it. It had stood vacant for a long time. Not many tenants could afford the rent. But on her salary, with a housing allowance from Starfleet (approved by the CMO himself), she was more than able to swing it.

It was an ancient building, modernized over the years. The kitchen had an old style water spigot with handles that you had to turn to regulate water temperature and flow. There was a marginally useful replicator whose recipes seemed to be limited to coffee and ice cream. The big selling feature had been the stovetop. An actual gas stove with all the old copper pots you could want hanging overhead from black iron hooks. There was even an antique coffeepot that she had no intention of ever actually using.

With a flick of a switch the kitchen was brightly illuminated.

It was one of the first things she had done to the place, most of the apartment was set to manual lighting, just as a small reminder that she was now dirt bound.

She keyed up a cup of coffee from the replicator and sipped it. It was just as bad at 2:30 am as it was at 7:00 am. Maybe she would find some instructions on how to use the coffeepot after all.

She wondered if there was any way to get Uhura to send her a file of replicator programs from Enterprise.

The pantry stood bare with only a few things to eat. She pulled out two slices of bread and a small container of peanut butter.

The brown creamy goo spread easily over the tired white bread. She squished the two slices of bread together and picked up the coffee cup. With a mouth full of bread and peanut butter she tapped the switch to the off position with her elbow and moved to the large sliding door in the living room.

At this time of night the stars and city lights almost gave the impression that you were in space. She stared out at the pinpoints of light focusing her attention on the flickering of the ground cars on the main roads through the city.

She could stand here all night if she wanted.

Of course she could stand here all night even if she didn't want to. She had no one to tell her to go back to bed no real agenda or schedule except her own.

It was so quiet, no hum of the ship beneath her feet, no quiet murmur of voices in the hall outside her quarters. For that matter no quarters.

The lights of the city seemed to make a river of white and gold.

Her apartment was empty and quiet and...cold. It felt lonely.

She didn't want to try to go back to bed. Didn't want to hear the angry sound of her own voice shouting in triumph over the bodies of the dead.

The peanut butter seemed to stick in the back of her throat. She sipped her coffee. The hot liquid soothed the lump in her throat.

Well she thought I'm already awake I should probably get a head start on the day.

She keyed up some Vulcan music and tossed the crust of her sandwich in the refuse chute. As the music began she moved the coffee table out of the way with her foot and took up a solid opening D'vun Kaltor position.

The music was soft enough to not disturb her neighbors but just loud enough to make out the simple rhythms. The room was dark. Perfect for the workout she needed right now.

She moved with careful slow moves, turning stretching and swinging. As she came up into a full handstand she was struck by the sight of her own shadow on the floor.

Long and dark, her feet pointed straight to the ceiling. She could see the light of the city carve her image on the floor to the last detail. She seemed so large, so very solid.

She could see the smooth bulges of muscle in her arms as they supported her weight. She trembled at the effort, but in her mind's eye it was an angry animal that she saw. A looming monstrous figure, trembling with terrifying power and fury.

Abruptly she fell to the floor in a graceless heap. Her shadow taking on a small weak shapeless form.

How pathetic, she thought and the thought was bitter and angry.

She jumped up from the floor and hit the lights muttering something vulgar under her breath.

She might as well just get dressed and head to the medical library. She needed to spend her energy studying not wasting it in this sort of self-pity.

It did not occur to her that the word was one she had learned on a pirate's ship.


	19. Chapter 19

dmiral James Kirk sat in his pristine office overlooking San Francisco Bay. He shifted in the chair again and eyed the hypo spray in the drawer of his desk. It was the third chair he'd had in three months and he still couldn't seem to get comfortable. His back was killing him.

He pushed the drawer closed, refusing to give in to the discomfort. For the moment. It would only be a matter of time. He would use the prescription here or at home. It had become an unwelcome part of his routine.

Enterprise had reported in that morning. An Orion syndicate trade center had been destroyed. 216 prisoners now crowded their shuttle bay. They were requesting a weeklong delay to remand the prisoners to Starfleet custody.

Jim shook his head at the request, shifting his weight forward to relieve the tension in his lower back.

Captain Edwards did a fine job. She was efficient and for the most part carried out her orders without complaint, but of late she seemed to have lost focus on the mission.

Starfleet's vision to finally rid the galaxy of the Orion syndicate and all of its cells.

Her report was short, even terse. After only three months she was already asking for R&R.

Jim sighed in frustrated disbelief. In his day he would take Enterprise out for 6 months or more without leave time.

Of course it would be hard to win Starfleet over to his side this time. He'd already kept Enterprise out there with over 150 prisoners on board for two weeks. The Federation council was in hot debates over the rights of the scum that had been taken into custody.

The Vulcans and Deltans had struck a rare alliance in the pursuit of Orion civil rights and they were hammering him daily to bring in Enterprise.

He gritted his teeth again and rubbed his neck to ease the tension.

It wasn't that he didn't think Enterprise should come in, or even that he thought Edwards was incompetent. It was simply that Starfleet had given him one ship to use, Enterprise. And he had hundreds of tips pouring in.

Intelligence classified, validated and prioritized every one. But none got the final go ahead without his approval.

Today's batch included a tip on a slave run only a few parsecs from Enterprise's location.

They knew. He was convinced of it. They knew that Enterprise was fully loaded and they were planning on making it a big transaction. Something to last for a while.

If only he could convince the Federation council that it was the right thing to do. But Sarek had them all talking about peace and justice.

He punched his fist in his hand trying to think of a way to bend the council to do what was right. What he needed was another ship or two. But that argument had been lost before it was begun. The legendary Enterprise and her stellar record were a hard sell when you were asking for help.

Of course if he were on the Enterprise they would have handled it just fine. He could 'lose' the comm systems, as he had so many time before and just charge in and stop the bastards.

He glared accusingly at Capt. Edward's image on his view screen leaning so casually over the arm of his chair - the captain's chair. He hastily corrected himself.

With a heavy sigh, he hit the comm key and began speaking. "Admiral Kirk to Capt. Edwards USS Enterprise. Captain, I have received your request to return to Federation territory. Your request is approved. You have 7 days to rendezvous with the Farragut, transfer your cargo and get a little shuteye. We'll need to get you back in action in a week. Admiral Kirk out."


	20. Chapter 20

Mark Twain once said that the coldest winter he ever spent was a summer in San Francisco. Today, walking home from class, Christine began to wonder what he would have thought of a San Francisco winter. The rain was more like a very hard mist than anything else. It was cold and she had not brought an umbrella. She should have taken the shuttle, she told herself. For some reason she felt like the exercise would do her good.

She didn't really want to go back to her apartment. Her cupboard was bare and her counter was littered with take out cartons. She had always enjoyed cooking when she was on the Enterprise. It had been such a welcome relief from the stress of the day. And her shipmates seemed to enjoy her simple home cooking.

Now that she was dirt bound she just wasn't interested in it. Somehow it wasn't as much fun to cook for one person after 4 hours studying in the med library.

So she usually picked up something on the way home. Of late her preference had been Chinese food. It was simple, quick and even a little healthy. Bagels on campus for breakfast and Chinese for dinner, when she actually took the time to eat. Long study hours and a steady intake of coffee in large doses were usually her diet.

Today, however, something about the empty streets and the driving rain had made her feel like walking. It was hard to explain, but she felt like the bay was echoing her own loneliness.

She felt lonely in a city of a million people. Lonelier than she had ever felt on the Enterprise.

It seemed like other than her sessions with Don she never even spoke. Weekends had passed and she had not even heard her own voice. For no particular reason, today it felt very sad.

So she walked home, in the cold rain wondering what she would find to eat.

The streets were deserted and the misty rain limited visibility to just a couple of blocks. She saw old-fashioned neon style lights on a corner ahead. As she approached her stomach answered the restaurant's call even before she knew what kind of food they served. Abihruchi - the sign read.

Indian? She thought to herself. It had been ages since she'd had Indian and she couldn't even remember if she cared for it. But she decided to heed her stomach's rumbling and headed in.

The room was small, with only 4 booths along a wall and a few round tables in the center of the room. The sweet humid scent of fresh homemade food mingled with thick incense and tea. For a long moment Christine stood in the doorway. Then a large beautiful Indian woman came from the kitchen. She wore deep purple hand embroidered silk with shining gold trim.

She walked quickly and softly to where Christine stood, "Welcome, please come in." She gestured to a booth near the kitchen. "May I bring you some chai to warm you up?" She asked as Christine sat down.

"Yes please."

And the woman disappeared into the kitchen. The moment she crossed the threshold she shrieked "Maleek! We have a dinner customer. Get a plate going, and better make it a big one, she's a little tiny thing."

Christine smiled. Evidently this was not a restaurant that relied on replicators and menus.

The lovely Indian woman returned with a steaming cup of creamy tea. Cardamom, cinnamon and tea combined with scents that she couldn't identify. The cup was hot as she raised it to her mouth. The flavors were delightful. She smiled.

Sweet strains of sitar music and amazing tapestries in red and gold surrounded Christine. The warmth of the kitchen and the sweet tea lulled her into a comfortable reverie.

A dark pair of brown eyes peered around the kitchen door at her curiously. Christine waved playfully, "Hello there, little one."

The head disappeared quickly.

The woman returned with a platter of colorful steaming foods and a small plate of flat bread. "Here you are my dear and don't worry it's all vegetarian." And she turned to leave.

"Vegetarian?"

"Oh I'm sorry. I just thought..."

"What makes you think I'm a vegetarian?"

"I...Well, you've just got the appearance of a vegetarian. And, well. You haven't eaten meat in sometime."

Christine thought for a moment. It was true. When _was_ the last time she had eaten meat? Two weeks? A month? No, now that she really thought about it the last time had been on the Enterprise. Strange, it hadn't been a conscious choice, she just hadn't bothered. "No, I haven't now that you mention it. But how did you know?"

"When you've been away from meat for a time you can smell it on others."

"Smell it?" Christine's eyes were wide.

"Yes. There's a certain scent that all meat eaters have. It's not offensive if you're wondering. It's just distinct. I think it's why the Vulcans think we all smell bad." She smiled.

"Hm. I guess I never thought about it."

"Well, if you prefer something with meat in it, I can ask Maleek to make some chicken for you."

"No, thank you. This is wonderful." Christine leaned forward and smelled the platter appreciatively.

"Well then I will bring you something to drink." She returned in a moment with a tall glass of orange liquid. "Mango Lassi. Try it, it's very refreshing."

Christine ate with much abandon, feeling strangely comfortable.

She continued to ponder the change in her eating habits. When had she stopped? In the hospital she had certainly been given the opportunity. Leonard brought a bloody prime rib for her first solid meal. She had focused on the baked potato instead, saying she wasn't all that hungry. If she had given it any thought at the time it was the smell of the barely singed meat that had made her lose her appetite. It brought to mind the smell of death and blood wine. It was too close to the memory of the pirate's ship.

But how had she missed this in her sessions with Don? They spent their days talking of her relationship with her mother, her ability to control her temper on the job. None of which seemed to be the problem, at least it didn't seem to be the problem otherwise she would have been able to finish her stupid sessions by now.

Now she was getting angry. She was shoveling her food into her mouth barely tasting it before swallowing. What was he doing? What did he hope to accomplish? She'd been wasting her time. She didn't understand.

Suddenly the lovely woman appeared again with another couple of cups of tea. "Do you mind if I join you?" she asked as she sat down.

"Uh, no." She looked uncertain for a moment. It was so unusual to have someone just come sit with you while you were eating.

"You like the vegetable korma?"

"Oh yes, it was wonderful." She pushed her plate away and picked up the teacup. "Thank you."

The Indian woman smiled again, "You're welcome. My name is Mahru." She extended her hand.

Christine took it, noticing the woman's intricate henna tattoo on her hands. "Christine." She introduced herself, mindful to raise her eyes and not stare at the lovely design.

Mahru just continued to smile as she released Christine's hand. She was so easy and kind it was downright unnerving.

"My sister finally got married." She raised her hands to display the pattern. "Mama insisted that we all do our hands as well."

"It's beautiful." Christine admired.

"It's getting me out of doing any work for a month!" the woman exclaimed. "Maleek insists that I not do any work, like in the old days."

At Christine's puzzled look the woman continued, "Brides would stain their hands with henna before their wedding night. Then when they entered their mother in law's house they would not have to work until the henna wore off. It takes about a month." Then she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "If you don't re apply it." She winked. "When I got married we hennaed my hands, but Maleek and I moved into our own house and we shared all the work. So this time he said I could take the time off."

Christine sighed contentedly. Two hours ago she had felt like she was the only person in the city, now she felt like she had met her best friend. No not a best friend, an aunt. Mahru felt like family.

The pair of brown eyes peeked around the kitchen door again. Another pair quickly joined them. Mahru did not look over her shoulder, but with a mother's own intuition spoke to her peeping children. "Yasmeen, Bakir, Stop peeping over my shoulder like that. Come here." She opened her arms to her children and they hugged her peering through thick curly black hair at Christine. "Yasmeen, what do you have here?"

"My book mama. I'm s'posed to read to you. 'Member?"

"Oh yes dear. Hop up here and you can read to our guest as well."

"A long time ago in a house on a mountain there lived a small girl named Angelita.."

Christine smiled at the girl as she turned the book so that the woman could see the illustration. It was a rare treat to hear a real story and there was nothing so wonderful as a story told by a child.

Christine looked up at Mahru and knew that she would be spending a lot of time with this remarkable woman and her charming family.


	21. Chapter 21

Flickering candlelight spread like stars as far as he could see.

"Look at it, Bones. Isn't it glorious?"

Faces of his people all turned to watch him as he entered the room.

He knew Leonard was there, he was always there. He turned to face him.

He wanted to say so much. He wanted to tell him that he was grateful for his friendship, grateful for his constancy here at his side.

But when Jim looked the doctor wasn't there. Jim searched around him and found that no one stood there at his side.

Then he raised his eyes and met the 458 crewmen as they stared in admiration oblivious to his helplessness. He searched among them for Leonard.

Finally he glimpsed the doctor at the end of the room near a door. He appeared to be totally at ease there near the exit, as if he was waiting for something or someone. With a friendly nod he smiled across the room to Jim, but did not move.

The crew continued to stare at the captain where he stood, now inexplicably in the center of the room. They were waiting for something. Waiting for him to stop this now before it went too far.

Jim felt lost for a moment, confused. What was it that he needed to stop? What did they expect him to do?

He turned to ask Spock, but Spock wasn't there either. He scanned the crowd of anxious faces. Where was Spock? Where was everyone? What the hell was going on?

He didn't even see him enter the room. He didn't see the President of the Federation move to greet his First Officer.

He only saw the crowd part and turn away from their captain to watch his First Officer dance.

He couldn't see him in the sea of bodies but he knew he was there. He knew he wasn't alone in the crowd, but he couldn't see him.

And he didn't see them disappear.

A woman screamed.

Uhura.

The crew stared stunned at the spot where they had stood.

He heard a voice shout, "Battle stations! Man your posts!" It was his own voice, it sounded strangely foreign.

The claxons blared, red lights were flashing everywhere. The ship shuddered under his feet. They were under attack now.

No, not possible!

This was Earth.

They were home.

They were safe.

No, this was wrong, there had not been an attack that night, not on Enterprise.

He spun around looking for Bones and Spock but they weren't there.

Across the room he saw Bones raise his head, a sad smile crossed his face. He looked right at him and waved. He could hear his voice as if he stood at his side, "You might need a friend someday, Jim." And then he turned to the door.

As it opened Jim could see a field of stars beyond.

He wanted to stop his friend from going, but he couldn't get across the floor to him. There were too many people who were lost and needed direction. He barked orders at them and they popped away like balloons.

He needed to find Spock. Had to find him. He pushed each and every person away, ordered them away until he was exhausted. It seemed like there were thousands of people here.

Now he cried out for his friend in the crowd "Spock!" and his voice suddenly woke him from the nightmare.

He was lying on the floor of his bedroom, a sheet tangled around his leg. He was sweating with the efforts of his dream.

"Damn." He sighed and rose painfully. It had been over two months since he'd had the dream. He'd actually believed it had gone away. He moved painfully up off the floor. He'd wrenched his back again.

0410 on his chrono. He would have to get up in an hour anyway.

He sighed again and went into the bathroom, determined to wash the sensation of frustrated panic away with a hot shower and a hypo spray.

Damn.

It was going to be a long day.


	22. Chapter 22

"Christine!" Mahru called to her friend as she entered.

"Hullo, Mahru. I brought a friend for dinner, is that alright?" Christine and Nyota took seats at the booth nearest the kitchen.

"Hello, we've missed you dear. How were your midterms?"

"Just fine." Christine smiled bashfully.

Uhura wasn't about to let her friend off the hook. "She aced them of course."

"Of course. Maleek!" she called to the kitchen door. "Christine is here and she brought a friend."

A tall muscular black man poked his head out the swinging door expecting to see a man in the booth. He looked eagerly at Uhura and his face fell for a moment, then he flashed her a charming smile full of pearly white teeth.

"Don't mind him." Mahru waved her hand at Uhura, "He keeps hoping Christine will settle down." Then she raised her voice and spoke pointedly to the kitchen, "I keep telling him that Christine is in love with the stars." She smiled at Uhura again and spoke quietly again, "but he never listens."

The ladies chuckled for a moment. Then Mahru spotted more diners at the door and hurried away without explanation.

Christine just smiled affectionately at Mahru's back and turned to Uhura.

"I can't believe you came all the way to Earth."

"I just had to come see you. How are you doing?"

"Fine." Christine looked down into her teacup wishing Mahru would come with some creamy chai.

"Fine?" Uhura picked up her napkin and placed it in her lap eyeing her friend. "What does that mean? It's been over a month since I was able to get a hold of you. I know school is busy, but-"

"I'm fine." Christine answered too quickly as she looked up from the spot in the teacup and felt anger rise to her cheeks. She clamped down on it tightly and her face went very still. She swallowed.

Mahru broke the tension with a small pot of tea, but she did not stay.

Christine poured the tea for her friend then filled her own cup. She did not look at Uhura for a long time. Her friend sat quietly, patiently watching the steam swirl over her tea.

"I'm still having the nightmare." She began quietly.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Uhura spoke evenly not wanting to cause Christine to close up again. She picked up her cup and inhaled the sweet spiced scent.

Christine too took a long appreciative whiff of her tea. "My counseling sessions are crap. I only go because it's the only way I can stay in school. But I tell you Ny, it's a waste of time."

Uhura looked up at her friend with a distinctly maternal smile, "No Chris, it's not a waste of time. If it's not helping you then maybe you should tell your counselor."

"I dunno, Don's a nice guy, but he seems to be more interested in my history than my problems."

"Your history?"

"Yeah, it's been almost 6 months and all we talk about is my mom, my dad, how I got to Starfleet and my god awful crush on Spock. It doesn't matter that it's all in the past, that's all he seems interested in."

"Well it must be important if he keeps asking about it." Uhura sipped her tea trying to hide her confusion. It was very odd that after all this time Christine had not been given a clean bill of health yet. Perhaps there was more bothering her friend than she let on.

"I dunno. He doesn't ask a lot of questions, he just sits there." Christine seemed a lot more annoyed than her friend.

They stared in silence into their cups. After a moment Mahru reappeared with two large plates of steaming food.

"Now-now, ladies. Enough brooding. No sad faces with good food on the table." She wagged a finger in mock warning. Over her shoulder Maleek grinned widely, two more plates in hand. He placed them in the center of the table. One was laden with steaming soft squares of Nan, the other had half a dozen small dishes of brightly colored sauces to complement their food. A pair of beautiful children stepped forward with tall glasses of mango juice for the ladies. The little girl smiled sweetly at Christine and whispered something to the woman as she placed the glass in front of her.

"Enjoy your meal, ladies." Mahru said turning to the kitchen and shooing her family away from the table.

Uhura looked at Christine whose eyes were following the little girl to the kitchen. "What did she say?" she asked curiously reaching for a square of the soft flat bread.

Christine reached for a piece of bread as well, "She said she finished Baba Yaga."

"Baba what?"

Christine smiled, "Baba Yaga. It's a fairy tale about a little girl who escapes from an ugly old witch with the help of a doll that her mother gave her before she died." She dipped the bread in some dahl. "It's a lot like Hansel and Gretel, only darker."

"Sounds positively morbid. Is it Russian?"

Christine laughed through half a mouthful of warm food and nodded her head. She managed to swallow quickly, "Yes. I found it in a bookstore downtown. They sell real paper books. I couldn't resist. Yasmeen really loves to read. I thought the pictures were nice."

"What does her mother think of the story?"

"Oh she thinks it's a great way for Yasmeen to learn the - what did she call it? 'deeper lessons of life'."

Uhura swallowed a spicy bit, "What lesson is that? Magic dolls are good for orphan girls?"

Christine chuckled, "Nah, I think it's a story about confidence or something." She answered absently, now fully focused on her food.

Uhura groaned appreciatively, "God this is good, Chris."

"Yeah I know. I eat here at least once a week."

From the next table came an amused voice, "Twice a week." Mahru picked up a pile of plates from the now empty table and winked at the ladies as she cruised by, "Is everything alright?"

"Delicious as usual, Mahru." Christine said quickly stuffing another large bite into her mouth.

The two old friends ate their fill of spicy food in abbreviated but friendly conversation.


	23. Chapter 23

Innumerable hours passed as he read and re read texts of the Vulcan Masters. He stood before the computer until even his Vulcan muscles protested. The he moved to the peg on the wall, took up his robe and walked the long dark passage way up to the surface. Once in the open he moved to the flat stone courtyard and took up a D'vun Kaltor stance. He moved tightly and precisely for hours on end stopping only when his limit had been reached.

Thus his days were spent without paying heed to man made schedules or planetary cycles. On some occasions he left the deep recesses of the monastery and walked out into bitter darkness. The numbing cold of the desert seeped into his bones as he held each posture with mathematical precision. On other days the blistering heat took its toll on his will and the bright sunlight literally blinded him as his second eye lid closed.

Even on those days, when he could not see to find his way most observers would not have known that his measured steps back to his empty cell were from memory.

Days and nights passed. He forced his body and brain into submission. After a time the words of Surak replaced the Klingon mutterings. But nothing could remove the sensation of bones and flesh yielding in his hands. Nothing satisfied as much as that first killing. Nothing.

It was shocking and repulsive to consider. So he didn't consider it. Not intentionally. Of course as Surak had taught, the undisciplined mind could not be stilled and it wandered into the emotional recesses of his memory.

Spock had known more than his share of loss of control. He had eaten meat with Zarabeth and excused it as time travel. The Platonians had stolen his dignity and for that he had lost all control in the presence of a complete stranger and his two most loyal and vulnerable friends. He had even behaved shamefully to Christine. Never speaking to her of the forced embrace. How was it that he could pride himself on his Vulcan heritage and not honor it when it came near her?

How could he not control so small an emotion as doubt? It was no wonder that he had behaved so abominably on the Orion Pirate's vessel.

As time passed his mind found dozens of solutions to their captivity that did not end with the animal like slaughter of those men. Several options ended with his own death but spared Christine the indignities she had suffered.

Each time thoughts surfaced about their ordeal he tried to push them away. There was no room for emotionalism here in the monastery, where masters of the Kolinahr taught.

It no longer mattered how he had reached the decision or what brought him here, the fact remained that he was here and it was time to work on his control.

And his emotions had caused so much pain and death in his lifetime that the only logical solution was to eliminate them.

But each day the doubts lingered and the questions rang out. Is this all that I am? An uncontrollable animal? Is there nothing more? Is there no hope for peace and balance?

So each day he focused his will on his goal, sparing only the barest of moments for his bodily needs. He hardly ate, rarely slept and never spoke. Determined to find an answer to end his pain.

"What the hell is going on, Don?" Christine stormed into her latest counseling session.

She had had enough. She couldn't say what was the final straw, but it didn't help that she couldn't explain to Nyota.

The Deltan did not look up from the replicator he was reaching into. He turned in his even measured steps and brought her a cup of steaming hot coffee. Normally it would be waiting on the table in front of her, however this morning Christine had been rather early.

He moved quietly, letting the silence work its annoying magic on the human woman. He sat in his usually chair with a slightly amused look.

"Good Morning, Christine. How are you doing this week?" He said to her, picking up his cup. It was exactly what he said every week.

"Damnit Don, cut the crap. What's going on here? Why am I still coming to these stupid sessions?"

"I don't know." He said sipping his tea. "Why _are_ you still coming to these sessions?"

"AUGH! You're infuriating!" She groaned as she threw herself heavily into her usual chair.

"What is it you are trying to ask, Christine? Be very specific." He offered in a fatherly tone.

"Don, it's been 6 months and all we talk about is the past. I'm sure you're very interested in what sort of Freudian shit I have going on with my family but I need to cut to the chase. I'm tired of these sessions. I want out of here."

"Hm." He murmured noncommittally. "I'll be honest with you Christine, I don't really care about your past or your family."

"What?!" she shouted jumping to her feet. "Then what the hell have we been doing here!?"

Don sighed with the air of a parent whose child simply did not get it. "Christine, do you remember our first real session?"

Christine sat heavily once again, "Yes, we talked about my parents."

Don shook his head, "No my dear, _you_ talked about your parents. I asked you 'Where shall we begin?' You began with your parents."

Christine's jaw dropped. "But I just assumed..."

Don smiled and leaned back in his chair opening his data pad of notes on their sessions. "You talked about your parents for the whole session. In our third session I asked you if you had anything you wanted to talk about or did you want to pick up where we left off last time."

"And you ask the same goddamned question every time!" She was so angry she could barely control herself. How could she be so stupid?

He chuckled easily, "For someone who didn't want to talk about their family, you sure had a lot to say."

Christine picked up her cup and took a long draught off it not wanting to comment. Yes, she had talked a lot about her family. She supposed it was because she never spoke of them to her friends. Too much history, too many petty problems.

Don continued to scroll through the data padd, "Then there is Mr. Spock."

She shot him a withering look.

"I had no idea when I read your file that your feelings for him were so deep. It must have been a horribly traumatic thing to have him there." His eyes were tinged with sadness. "Christine, when you came to me you were filled with so much anger and frustration. Why do you think I asked you to figure out why you were coming?" His eyes narrowed slightly willing her to understand.

"So that I would commit to being here. That's what I thought at the time anyway." Now she sighed heavily. "But you're saying you wanted me to figure out my own counseling agenda. Damn! I'm such a moron sometimes." She was shaking her head.

He smiled a genuinely happy smile, then continued with authority "As I said it must have been important at the time. But you are quite correct enough time has passed. You weren't ready to talk about your ordeal when you came here, but now it is time."

Christine was oddly uncomfortable at the thought. She didn't want to talk about it. She had been dreaming and reliving it since the day she returned. Oh sure, the dreams were a lot fewer and further between, but their effect was the same. Now that it was really time to talk about it she found herself trembling. She sipped her coffee again.

He spoke again, his voice soft but certain, "I know it's going to be hard, but you're ready. Are you familiar with the story of Baba Yaga?"

She smiled slightly, "Yeah. I've just discovered it. I don't know why but I really love it."

He smiled and pointed to a large mural on the wall near the door.

She had seen it dozens of times but never paid it much notice. She assumed it was just a mother and child. But now she could see that it was distinctly Russian in style and the mother was painted in wispy pale colored brush strokes. The brightest point, in the center of the swirling picture, was the doll clutched tightly in the young girl's arms. Her dress was a hodge podge of fabric pieces matching both the mother and the daughter. "It is one of my favorites." He said.

Christine nodded thoughtfully, "My friend told me that it was a great story for her daughter because it taught the deeper lessons of life. Do you know what she meant by that?"

Don smiled widely. It was the perfect question, a subconscious attempt to begin the path to healing. She did get it. She just didn't know it yet.

"Yes, it is an allegory for healing. It tells us that we are all orphans in the world, but that the wisdom of our experiences and the intuition of our hearts will always be enough for us to break the evil spells and overcome the most horrific obstacles. They are the voice of the little doll that speaks to us, the voice of our inner strength."

Christine looked at the picture for a long time digesting what he said. Then with tear-rimmed eyes she turned to face the very patient man.

"Okay Don, I'm ready. Let's get the hell out of Baba Yaga's house."


	24. Chapter 24

Leonard sat on the hard picnic bench near the playground with a handful of creamy white paper. The sound of children screeching and squealing with various joys of the playground did not disturb his moment of quiet.

_Dear Leonard, _

(it read in simple block letters)

_I know it's been a while since I took the time to actually write, but it's been a busy month. _

_You'll be happy to know my spider plants did not die. Thank you for the advice, I will try to water them once a month whether they need it or not. (Here she drew a small smiling face)._

_No I have not had an opportunity to talk to George about a summer cookout at your place, he's been rather busy with the new round of medicines for the Mars Colony. It's a special Admiral Kirk job. George says he's honored by the Admiral's attention to detail, but to tell you the truth he's as mad as a hornet with the Admiral's 'help'. _

_Jim's been pretty caught up in his work. I haven't had a chance to take him up on his offer of lunch. _

_Classes are going well. I've enrolled in a full load of psych classes this term. Professor Boyce sends his love and told me to tell you that no matter what you say you can't cure a common cold with Kentucky bourbon, but he's willing to put it to a scientific trial the next time you're in town._

_Please check your busy schedule for graduation day, I'd love to see you if you could find the time._

_I hope this letter finds you well. Please give my love to Joanne and 'lil' ol' sugar-lumpkins'._

_Thinking of you,_

_Christine_

A shrill cry of "Graaaandpaaaaa!" cut through his brief peacefulness and he jumped up and ran to his granddaughter's rescue.

"Those nasty lil' bees'll go after anythin' sweet, sugar-lump." He scooped her into his strong arms, "Here now, let granpa have a looksee."


	25. Chapter 25

T'Lar of Vulcan entered his cell and stood expectantly in the center of the room.

Spock rose from the smooth stone meditation stone and stood before her.

Without the slightest hint of emotion she spoke, "Spock, walk with me." And she walked out of the cell.

Spock reached up for his robe, pulling it on in silence as he walked in unhurried steps two full paces behind her.

They walked in silence along the corridors for hours. Finally having traversed every inch of the long catacombs she walked out through great entrance at the feet of Surak onto the long path that snaked through the lava flats. He followed in silence listening to the sound of his own feet on the stones, the quiet hissing of the sand, the incessant popping and hissing of the molten rock. His mind had been quieted to the point of near silence. Only doubt remained. But on this short journey, his mind's voice was silent. T'Lar summoned him and he went.

She walked the entire length of the turbulent field in even measured steps, turning at the end of the outermost path and following it back around the opposite side of the fiery pools.

Finally the main courtyard of Gol was before them, the geometric stone pattern leading up to the very feet of Surak and out as far as the eye can see. T'Lar paused at the edge of the dizzying plane and Spock, not missing a beat, stopped exactly two paces behind her. She turned to face him and addressed him in high Vulcan, "Thy mind is well disciplined and thy studies are diligent. It is time for the next step, Spock. Thou shall now join the others in the great hall."

Spock nodded his acknowledgement.

Without another word she turned away and walked up the path into the cool darkness leaving him to stand at the edge of the courtyard, looking up at the giant statue of Surak.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

He didn't mean to eavesdrop, but somehow he had managed to drop every one of his data chits on the carpet while sealing his office for the day.

A hushed hiss caught his attention, "Jason - psst - Jason!"

He heard the shuffle of Starfleet issue boots on the tile in the hall just around the corner from his office. Out of sight, but not out of earshot.

"What?" a man's voice answered.

The woman who he thought he recognized as the cadet who acted as intern to his office.

"Is he there?"

"Who?"

"You know who, Admiral Ahab?"

"What's that a new nickname?"

She laughed, "Yeah, He's our own very own hoo-rah humbug, chasing the great white Orion whale."

He snorted with mild amusement. "I like Queen of Hearts better 'Off with their heads! Off with their leave!"

"Well is he?"

"Kirk? Nah it's after 2000 he's long gone. Hoped in his bird o' prey and left the building."

Kirk stopped cold at this. They were talking about him.

Bird of Prey? Off with their leave?

"Why?" Jason asked.

The woman sighed heavily, "Oh good. I've got the latest from Enterprise. Captain Edwards is requesting more time for leave. I don't want to be there when he opens it. Whenever she implies Enterprise has been running too hard he gets all fired up and suddenly my boots aren't shined enough or my hair's out of regulation."

"Ah don't worry about it. It could be worse."

"Worse? You mean I could have been born an Orion?"

"Nah, you could have served with him on Enterprise."

She laughed out loud at this.

Kirk could hear them coming around the corner and he hastily backed out of sight into a small alcove where the coffeepot sat. Two or three minutes later the pair exited having deposited the report in Kirk's incoming messages file.

James Kirk simply sat for a very long time. He wasn't exactly hurt, he just didn't understand.

Hoo-rah humbug?

Certainly he was a stickler for military etiquette but this was Starfleet, not some country-dance. This was war.

He set his jaw angrily.

These kids just didn't get it.

He was saving their lives and their children's lives. They had no idea what they were talking about.

They didn't know what it was like to be out there on the front lines.

He smoothed his coat down neatly over his chest.

He drew himself up tall and headed home.

Damn kids. They didn't know what they were talking about.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The great hall was full of silent Vulcans each sitting on their knees in absolute silence. Around the room stood the sentinels of logic, the Kolinahr Masters.

At irregular intervals one or more of them would leave the auditorium in silence only to return with a hand written text. At any given time there could be several of them reading aloud for the benefit of the acolytes.

Spock came to the Great Hall and sat on the dusty ground without a word. On this day there was silence when he entered. He sat facing a carved stone figure. It was both impish and grotesque, like a Terran gargoyle. Spock simply stared at it. It was what it was, nothing more.

A stone altered by Vulcan hands to resemble something. It was neither right nor wrong.

He stared at it for a very long time, never daring to believe that it could bring relief from the quiet hissing of doubt in his mind.

Not allowing his human heart to hope that the grotesque thing could extinguish the memory of the joy.

He simply concentrated on his breathing and the stone. He challenged himself with the task of utter stillness and absence of memory or emotion. How long could he simply _be_ without the hissing memory of joyous rage? Each time the sensation or even the memory of the sensation returned it was a failure. It did not matter that the frequency of recurrence was diminishing nor that the severity of his emotional reaction was lessening. All that mattered was that it occurred and it shouldn't. He was failing by the moment.


	26. Chapter 26

A month, a whole stupid month had passed and here she was again sitting with Don. She wanted it to be over, but she was just so damn frustrated. She sat in silence contemplating her coffee.

"Another nightmare?" He asked, beginning their session.

"Nightmare? Who said anything about nightmares?" She looked up abruptly.

He had developed an uncanny ability in recent weeks to know where she needed to go with their sessions. Today was no exception.

He simply raised his eyebrows in patronizing disbelief.

"Hm! Fine so I had a nightmare."

"Why?"

"Why? What do you mean 'why'?"

"Why? Why did you have another nightmare?"

This time she didn't deny them. "I don't know, I just did."

"Why?"

"I don't know!" she threw her hands up in exasperation.

He was infuriatingly calm, "You're still coming to counseling sessions."

"Yes I know. I've been here." She responded sarcastically.

"So why are you having the nightmares? Shouldn't they be going away?"

"I don't know!"

"Yes you do."

"Yes I do? What the hell does that mean?"

"You are in control of your dreams just as you are in control of these sessions."

"I DON'T KNOW!" She screamed leaning at him threateningly as if the force of her voice could make him stop this line of questioning.

He tilted his head to one side.

"Oh Don, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lose my temper. I'm just as frustrated as you are."

"Am I frustrated?" He asked in his impossibly even tone.

"Don't start that with me."

"Let me ask you a different question then. Why haven't you eaten any meat since your experience?"

This time she was truly taken aback. "What?"

"Why haven't you eaten any-"

"I heard what you said, how did you know?" She was angry. He had invaded her privacy. She had never mentioned her eating habits with him. She hadn't really given it much thought. Well, not *much* thought.

"I didn't until now."

"Then why did you ask?" her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Are you following me?"

His answer was even, unapologetic. "I am a patron of many of the same establishments you frequent. We have common acquaintances. One of them recommended a favorite dish of yours. It was Vegetarian."

"Mahru." She spat the name as if naming a traitor.

"Yes."

"Hm." She responded, temporarily satisfied. "I don't know."

"Alright then, why are you still coming to these sessions?"

"I need help."

"With what? You excel academically. You are physically healed. What do you need assistance with?"

She threw up her hands now, shouting "I don't know!"

"Perhaps you do and you do not wish to speak of it. I see a connection. Vegetarian food, Baba Yaga, Nightmares. I think you see it too."

"You know you keep telling me I know what's going on, but I don't. That's why I keep coming here. You're the expert, you're supposed to have the answers."

"Who had the answers in the story of Baba Yaga?"

She blinked hard searching her memory angrily, "The doll."

"The doll?'

"Okay the little girl with the doll. The doll was what her mother gave her. her inner voice, her intuition, her experiences, her gut feelings whatever you call it."

"Yes, very good. So what does your doll tell you?"

She narrowed her eyes angrily and responded in terse short syllables, "Nothing! I don't have a doll. I have you. **I** come to **you** for my answers."

"Why?" He sat very still, his eyes watching her intently.

She raised her voice again, clenching her fists. "Why? Because you're the goddamned expert! You're the shrink! This isn't a fairy tale, this is real life. There's no black and white here, only endless shades of gray."

"Why isn't this black and white? What are the 'shades of gray'?"

"Because I don't have a stupid doll, I'm not in some godforsaken castle and I'm sure as hell not some helpless little girl about to be eaten by a fat old witch. This is different."

"What is different?" He remained absolutely calm his eyes watching the anger build.

"Jesus H. Christ, aren't you listening? I'm not some innocent child. I'm an adult. A grown woman, a goddamned doctor. I didn't wander into a spooky forest, I knew the risks when I joined Starfleet. I trained for them! I trained to heal and I trained to kill."

The key, he recognized it and latched on, "Did you kill or defend your self?"

She jumped up feeling the need to run away or hit something, she shouted at him in disbelief. "Do you call what I did defending yourself? I split a man open from stem to stern, I sliced through another man's face. My god, I'm trained to heal not brutalize and destroy. I'm a doctor - goddamn it all, not an animal!"

He watched her for a long time. There was only silence.

Silence and the sound of her angry breath, hissing in and out of her chest. Her heart pounded in her throat.

Then the sound changed, her face changed. The angry hissing became a soft strangled gasp for breath. The world swam in watery pools before her eyes.

Tears began to well up and pop soundlessly to the floor.

She gasped again, "I'm not an animal." She felt weak and moved numbly to the couch falling back into its comforting embrace.

The gasping changed to a gentle sob and the tears streamed in a steady stream down her face. The colors of the room seemed to reel and swim into images of that horrific day. The drab metal colors of cheap paint on antique metal galley walls. The paintings on Don's wall seemed to conjure the wild array of pirates in their assorted outlandish costumes.

The memory played and replayed in her mind, each time she felt the smooth steel in her hand, the firm yielding pressure of the sharp blade on flesh. She could hear the sound of metal hitting bone, slicing leather and hair and cloth and not stopping. It was sickening and satisfying like the sound of meat in your mouth.

She was sobbing now, unable to staunch the flow of the horrible emotions that poured out of her.

"I'm **not** an **animal**." She kept whispering over and over until she fell into an exhausted sleep.

Don reached for the blanket that sat on the end of the couch for just this purpose. Then he moved to his desk and wrote a short note to Dr. Birdseye indicating that Christine would not be needing his services for very much longer.

Like it or not, she had found what she was hiding from.

Now it was time to heal, time to cope.

She had all the tools she needed. She was well equipped for the journey.

Now came the easy part.

Now it was time to rebuild.


	27. Chapter 27

Blue was not a color often seen on Vulcan. No blue flowers, no blue water. The sky shined red or gold at various times of the year. The smallest of children used copper or shades of red to signify water in their artwork. Blue was extraordinarily rare.

So it was especially noticeable when he returned to his room from a vigorous workout on the sand blown rocks outside the enclave. A simple sheet of heavy blue paper with a Starfleet insignia on the front. It stood out in the room like - well like blue on Vulcan.

Before he opened it he entertained the briefest moment of wonder that perhaps Starfleet was re activating his commission.

But brushing the thought aside he broke the old style seal and opened it immediately recognizing the form. In broad sweeping letters it read "You are cordially invited to the graduation of Christine Chapel". Details of the day and time followed with typical Starfleet formality.

Graduation?

He paused a moment noting the date.

It hardly seemed possible, but a year had passed.

Christine was graduating from medical school.

It was logical to believe that her life had changed in the time that had passed. And yet he still remembered her as she had been that night in the ballroom on Enterprise or as he had last seen her, lying unconscious in a Starfleet hospital. Then her gentle beauty had been marred by the brutal attack by the Orion pirates. He did not often conjure that image.

He wondered what she looked like now. His mind had been so caught up this last year in the moment that he lost control that his mind had, most illogically, not considered the passage of time.

He cocked an eyebrow at this but his gesture went unnoticed. No one was there to see it. No one was there to care to laugh at his lapse, no disapproving eyes, no one.

His face instantly returned to its accustomed impassive expression. His mind quickly squashed the insistent whisper in his mind.

With a swift motion he pulled his meditation robe over his head and without another thought about Christine he moved out the door to the great hall.

It was time to meditate.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The sun was shining down on a clear San Francisco morning. If she was going to make it to the graduation ceremony she absolutely had to leave now.

Funny that she should be so nervous. After everything she'd been through on the Enterprise it seemed inconceivable that a little pomp and circumstance would get to her so much.

Maybe it wasn't the fact that in a few short hours she'd officially be a doctor that had placed the butterflies in her stomach. She looked at the letter she'd written to Dr. M'Benga. Somehow the electronic display seemed so very impersonal.

She read the words again, as she had a hundred times that day. Reached out to change one word in the message then stopped. It was fine the way it was. All she had to do was push 'send' and it would be done.

Vulcan.

She wondered what Leonard would think. With the great Orion clean up in its final stages, Enterprise was scheduled to return to Starfleet in 6 months. It made no sense to accept a posting on the starship.

However, Dr. M'Benga had made her an offer she just couldn't refuse a position as a fellow at the Vulcan Science Institute's Medical center. His partner at the center was taking parental leave and he desperately needed someone who could jump right in.

She lifted her hand once again. Held it over the 'send' button on the comm pad.

What would George say?

He still spoke of his plan to place her on the Enterprise someday. But she was graduating today and Enterprise didn't need a new CMO.

She looked over the letter once again, then noticing that it was time to go she pushed the green button, sealing her fate.

Vulcan.

She picked up her bag and looked at herself one last time in the mirror. Then she walked to the door. As it slid open it startled a smartly dressed Dr. Birdseye.

"George!" she exclaimed in surprise. "You haven't been lurking on my doorstep long have you?"

He made a show of clutching his chest in surprise, which was doubly comical considering his tall lankiness. "No-no! I just got here. You scared me out of my wits with the door though."

"What are you doing here? Don't you have some intergalactic bio research proposal to review?"

"As a matter of fact, no. I cleared my schedule for the day to escort you to school."

She smiled broadly and took his arm, "Why George Birdseye if you don't stop this, people will start talking!"

"Humph! Let 'em talk! My wife'll defend my honor!"

"Oh I'm sure Ann will, but who'll defend my honor?" she laughed.

A voice was heard from the open lift at the end of the hall, "I will!" Commander Uhura peeked out. She was dressed in her Starfleet dress uniform especially for the occasion.

"Ny!" Chris let go of the tall man's arm and rushed to embrace her friend. "Gods it's good to see you! You look terrific!"

"C'mon now ladies." George shooed them into the lift. "We can catch up on the way. You don't want to be late to your graduation, do you 'Doctor'?"

Christine beamed in response and as the trio stepped into the lift she spoke, "George, Ny, there's something I need to tell you."


	28. Chapter 28

T'Lar appeared almost soundlessly in front of a kneeling Spock in the great hall.

It was not uncommon for the masters to suddenly appear before the acolytes. At times they were tested on their knowledge of Surak's writings, at other times they were brought to meditate with the Masters of Kolinahr in the Great Hall.

Those that had been at Gol the longest were also assigned tasks in addition to their meditations.

It was logical to utilize the great talents and resources at their disposal to continue the maintenance of the educational institution. Each of the acolyte's skills were recorded and drawn upon as the needs of Gol arose.

On this day the needs of Gol had been assessed and Spock had been summoned.

Spock rose in T'Lar's presence. She turned and he followed her out of the hall.

Once in the silence of the cool dark hallway she spoke, "Thy skill has improved greatly, thy control is strong. It is time to move to the next level of training. Vulcan Space Command has requested a controller. It is thy assignment. Maintaining the control of Kolinahru in the midst of the undisciplined shall be thy next task to master."

Spock only nodded his head in acceptance and turned down the path that led to his cell.

On a wooden peg inside his cell now hung a duty robe.

One of the acolytes must have brought it while he was in the Great Hall. It was a simple garment made of thick cream-colored fabric.

He pulled it on over his daily wear and turned back out to the hall.

He did not question where he should go there were very few places to go in Gol, but the path out of the sanctuary was well known.

As he moved up the path to the surface, others joined him each dressed in the same type of robes as his.

At the door to the outside stood one of the Masters awaiting the workers.

They were led out into the early morning across the damp desert sand to a transport vehicle. Spock did not allow his surprise rise to his face, but watched detachedly from his seat at the window as Gol grew smaller.

The time in the transport passed as all time does in the training of the mind. Spock spent the time centering himself and reinforcing the walls of his mind against the onslaught of chaotic thought he was anticipating.

As touch telepaths, most Vulcans do not experience the mental battering of others thoughts in day-to-day life.

However the Kolinahr disciples in their effort to root out emotion often lay open their own minds and left them vulnerable to the emotions of others. It was a common exercise for the masters to send the acolytes out into the world. A final test of their control.

The control station was a large but efficient complex, staffed with a wide variety of beings from various planets in the Federation.

Spock was neither questioned nor stopped.

Presumably all security questions were handled by the tall peacekeeper at the door. Spock recognized him as the same man who had attended his failed Kun-ut-Kalifee just 3 years earlier.

The control panel that he was assigned to was a simplified version of the same communications panel used on the Enterprise.

An incoming tracking system identified all approaching vessels. Due to the volume of traffic each position was assigned a portion of the task. The most inexperienced were tasked with the city level traffic.

And so it was that Spock became acquainted with the commerce path that fed Shikhar. He worked in a small team for 10-hour shifts directing cleared vessels to the main spaceport. It was tedious work and he did it with control and ease.

If his coworkers did not call him particularly friendly neither would they call him inefficient. He was just another Vulcan from the monastery and they left him alone.


	29. Chapter 29

Uhura, Birdseye and Chapel all slid into a simple booth in the restaurant.

A lovely Indian woman in an emerald sari came to their table. "What would you like this evening? Ah, Christine! It's so good to see you. We've missed you here the last couple of weeks."

"I've been sort of busy Mahru."

"Graduating." George offered conspiratorially behind his hand.

"Graduating? Maleek! Christine graduated!" She shouted to the kitchen with glee.

A tall dark muscular man dressed in chef's clothing came out.

"Christine? Is it true?" He reached out with strong thick arms and hugged her up from her chair to the delight of onlookers and Christine's friends.

Mahru hugged Christine too and hastily sent the man back to the kitchen with orders for a celebratory dinner that would be on the house.

"Mahru, No!" Christine protested. "Please don't, Let me pay for dinner."

"You most certainly will not Christine, your business alone has paid for my daughter's voice lessons and my son's dance lessons for this entire year! Besides, you're more like family. Let me do this, please? Soon you won't be able to come in for real food." She turned to Christine's friends as if they were her own. "Has she told you what she's thinking of doing?"

George chuckled, "Not thinking, done."

"No!" Mahru covered her mouth to stop the squeal that threatened to spill out.

Uhura smiled and hugged her friend's shoulder awkwardly in the booth, "Yes, Chris's going to Vulcan."

"Maleek!" she shrieked her hands in the air. "She's done it! She's going to Vulcan!" She rushed to her husband in the kitchen bent on creating a true Indian masterpiece dining experience. The pair could be heard loudly discussing this 'tragic' turn of events and the 'loss' of their favorite diner.

Christine, Nyota and George spent the evening dining on the finest and most delightful of Indian dishes.

As they finished their meal, Christine noticed a familiar white robed figure in a corner booth. She excused herself politely and moved toward him.

"Christine. It's good to see you."

"Don. I'm so glad to see you too. I just wanted to tell you thank you again for everything." She smiled.

"You are very welcome." He said and then gesturing with a long graceful hand to his dining companion he introduced her, "Christine, this is Lt. Ilia."

Christine turned now to see the woman for the first time. For the briefest of moments her heart jumped into her throat.

It was **her**. The Deltan woman from the ball. The one who had been with the President.

She extended her hand to Ilia dumbly.

Ilia tilted her head to the side slightly, sadly and extended her had to Christine. "We've met."

"Yes. Uh - Hello again." Christine stammered.

Ilia squeezed her hand gently to reinforce her sincerity "I'm so glad that we are finally formally introduced." Somehow she felt it needed to be an apology for her role in that evening.

Christine smiled slightly. "Yes, a pleasure." She released her grip awkwardly not knowing what to say. She searched herself trying to get a handle on her feelings. Not sure what she felt.

Don, sensing the tension, spoke up, "I am Ilia's sponsor to Starfleet, didn't you know that?"

"No. No I didn't." She looked back at the man who had helped her so much in the last year.

And suddenly somehow it didn't seem to matter who Ilia was. It was never about the ball or the people that were there. It was about Christine and who she was. It had always been about her and how she controlled her own life.

She visibly relaxed and then drew herself up with childlike pride, "I've accepted the position on Vulcan."

"You have? That's wonderful. I'm sure you'll do a fine job."

"Vulcan?" Ilia asked.

"Yes, Dr. M'Benga is looking for a fellow at the medical center there. It's a short posting, only 6 months, but I could use the experience in a position as a medical doctor."

Don smiled at Ilia, "Christine graduated today from Starfleet Medical."

Ilia smiled at the human woman sincerely, "Congratulations, Doctor."

"Thank you. I don't know if I'll ever get tired of hearing people call me that." She grinned broadly. "Well, I'd better get back. It's a pleasure to finally meet you." She smiled again at Ilia, noting this time how lovely the woman's eyes were, how kind and sincere.

"Goodbye, Christine." Don extended his hand.

"Goodbye, Don." She squeezed his hand firmly, hoping fervently that she appeared as okay as she felt.

"It was a pleasure to finally meet you Lt. Ilia."

"And you Dr. Chapel. Goodnight."

Then with one final smile of gratitude she returned to her friends.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

A week later Christine sat on two waist high shipping containers in the broad cargo bay of Starfleet's main transport station. She watched the flurry of movement with a quiet detachment that she couldn't explain. It was good to be doing something, going off planet. It would be good to get away from the well meaning, but watchful eyes of her friends.

Saying goodbye to George had been hard, but he insisted he wouldn't be out of touch. He was a good man. Very much the father that she had needed.

Ny had smiled easily and promised to visit her before the year was out. They had walked to the beam out point and hugged goodbye.

Christine couldn't help but feel some relief at her friend's leaving.

She was ready for a new beginning.

A familiar face in the sea of Starfleet officers stopped before her.

"Dr. Chapel?"

"Lieutenant Ilia!" She was quite surprised to see the Deltan woman so soon. "What can I do for you Lieutenant?"

"You are awaiting transport to Vulcan, isn't that right?" Her voice was musical, lilting. It was quite distracting.

"Yes, I am. I was told I would be going with a standard Federation cargo transport that was taking supplies to Dr. M'Benga."

"Yes, the SS Mead. The captain asked that I assist you on board."

Christine raised an eyebrow at this. A lieutenant to come fetch her? That seemed a bit overkill. "The captain sent you? I would have thought he'd send a junior officer."

Ilia's mouth twitched slightly in a wry half smile. "The captain asked me to bring you because I was already on Earth. And I'm the only female on board. I think he wanted you to feel more comfortable."

"Oh?" Christine rose now and hefted one of her carry cases by its shoulder strap. "Which way?"

Ilia produced an anti grav unit, "We're going up to transporter pad 17. It's a cargo transport area so there won't be much traffic."

"So you're assigned to the Mead? Congratulations."

The Deltan woman tilted her head diffidently "We've all got to start somewhere. They needed a navigator and I was available. It's not Enterprise, but it'll do."

Christine smiled at this, "Enterprise? Hm. I would have thought you'd be hoping for one of the newer ships. She's just puttering about ridding the galaxy of evil Orions."

Ilia looked hard at Christine trying to gauge her meaning. Christine only smiled easily.

"Well, I suppose it is just the name Enterprise. It wouldn't matter if I were charting asteroids."

"For all the action they're seeing they might as well be charting asteroids."

"Then perhaps it is a good thing to be transporting medical supplies from Earth to Vulcan."

"Well, I'm certainly happy to see a familiar face."

As they reached the transport area Christine realized she was truly happy to see Ilia.

The pair was soon beamed aboard the transport and Christine was escorted to her quarters. It was a two-week trek at sublight speed. Normally a much shorter trip on a starship, the transport stuck to sublight and conveyed more delicate cargo than was normally allowed at warp speeds. This time it was a new batch of Rigellian fever vaccine. The latest outbreak on Vulcan had taken 3 lives. All the victims had been vaccinated. Vulcan Science had requested this batch be transported by shuttle to and from the ship and no warp speed. Evidently there was some sort of degradation in the stability from the last transport. Thousands would have to be re vaccinated. It was one of many reasons M'Benga had requested Christine's help.

So Christine found herself on the slowest boat to China.

Fortunately, Lt. Ilia was pleasant company and the pair spent much of the trip playing chess and talking over tea.


	30. Chapter 30

The morning began as all others began when he was required to work. A small simple meal followed by D'vun Kaltor meditation on the plaza until the sun rose, an hour's meditation in his cell and then a transport to the city. He had taken to wearing the hood of his robe up and pulled forward over his face. It discouraged the non-Vulcans from attempting to include him in their insipid socialization activities between work intervals.

On this day there were 29 transports slated for arrival at Shikahr. One had been pre cleared for landing on the Vulcan Science Academy's landing pad.

"SS Mead to Vulcan space command, this is Lt. Ilia requesting instructions."

Spock recognized the name, the vocal qualities. For a long moment he said nothing. He searched his memory for her name and quite suddenly stopped, hand raised over the comm channel as he remembered.

Ilia.

The woman who had stood at the edge of the dance floor on the arm of the President.

His memory replayed the scene, the waking nightmare. He could hear her apology to Christine. She was so sorry for the accident, she would get the president off the dance floor, she would come help Christine with her dress.

Her dress. The same emerald velvet that later had lain in tatters on the floor, stained with blood.

The Klingon had fallen on it.

The quiet undertone of the station seemed to take on a nefarious quality as if they all murmured the same accusatory words.

"SS Mead to Vulcan space command, this is Lt. Ilia requesting instructions."

The sound of her voice brought him out of his reverie and his finger impacted lightly on the comm channel button.

"SS Mead, this is Vulcan Space command. You are cleared for landing at Vulcan Science Academy." His voice sounded distant and hard. His mind swirled with memory and conflict.

With a swift motion he sent the landing coordinates. "SS Mead, confirm that you have received landing coordinates."

"Confirmed Vulcan Space command. Thank you."

He almost said 'you're welcome.' He felt the words rise to his lips and swallowed them down. Years of training as the son of an Ambassador seemed to reassert themselves at moments such as these. When his control failed him. When he was so utterly vulnerable to the memories.

Near him one of his co-workers talked another ship in for a landing and ended the transmission with the ubiquitous "On behalf of Vulcan, welcome."

It was not required verbiage. Spock considered it unnecessary socialization and had never integrated it into his dialogue.

But at that moment he was so lost he couldn't remember what his next task was.

And then the channel closed and the Mead moved to their coordinates. He watched it on the sensor screen as it made a slow approach to the Academy.

Spock swallowed hard and closed his eyes reaching deep within himself for any shred of Surak's wisdom. He desperately needed control. Then a heartbeat later he found it. A short passage from Surak's earliest writings. 'Logic alone suffices'. Control comes when one does not resist the flow of the universe but allows experiences to flow like wind over sand. It is illogical to resist the memory. Resistance gives the memory power. Lt. Ilia is only a being, nothing more. Her presence has no power over him. Logically he could only let go of the sensation.

When he did finally open his eyes again it was time to talk another ship in and the SS Mead was just a memory.

It was a memory that would once again occupy his meditations for several days.


	31. Chapter 31

"Your execution is improving, Dr. Chapel. Timing, posture and balance have reached an adequate level to join our primary education classes."

It was a high compliment she recognized it immediately. Still the idea of being surrounded by a dozen or so pre-teen Vulcan children while she learned wasn't exactly appealing.

She nodded her head slightly, as M'Benga had instructed her and responded with the ubiquitous, "I am honored."

The lithe Vulcan woman had been highly recommended as the best and most tolerant of teachers. Her Terran clientele had been limited to the aggressive types who studied defense arts wherever they were. Every planet had a defensive art and inevitably there were those who wanted to learn exotic ways to kick, hit and inflict pain.

T'rees was not a high master, but a simple teacher. She had the patience for small children and humans. Christine had been only her second human student for D'vun Kaltor. Not many humans wanted to practice mathematically stringent meditative dance.

"Tomorrow. One hour earlier." She said by means of a dismissal and she exited the classroom.

Well, apparently it was decided.

Christine picked up her traveling cloak and covered herself for the trip outdoors. Initially she had thought the long dark coverings were just another indicator of the repressive nature of Vulcans. Then she had tried one in the heat of the sun.

Remarkably the dark fabric kept her cooler and protected her from the punishing radiation of the sun.

No, not the sun, she corrected herself. The sun was what Earth circled, this was T'Kuht. And she was a bitch at noon.

Life at the Academy was a Zen-like lesson in 'hurry up and wait'.

The clinic served the Starfleet duty personnel posted to Vulcan, the whole planet of Vulcan. Certainly Vulcan had healers with renowned abilities. But as a function of Starfleet's protocol any posting or station with more than 200 military personnel required a clinic with Starfleet physicians. Naturally it was a pretty low demand job and therefore highly coveted posting in Starfleet' medical community. You were stationed at arguably the best scientific institution in the known galaxy and all you had to do is ensure the health of some of Starfleet's finest.

With two doctors, someone was always on duty. But aside from sick call in the morning and various appointments during the day it was an on-call job.

Christine was learning more about molecular biology than she had ever dreamed of and she still had time for recreation.

If you could call D'vun Kaltor recreation.

Pulling the hood over her head she swept out into the sandy street.

Most days her routine was enough, but today she really wanted to have a loud roomful of Starfleet officers, a nice plate of steaming nachos and a tall pitcher of beer.

Well, maybe tomorrow. Today she was on duty and running late for an afternoon appointment. She picked up the pace along the dusty street that was the shortest route to her office.

_**Her**__ office_.

"Dr. Chapel's office." She said out loud with a smile, ignoring the curious glance of the woman she passed as she stepped up the stoop to the door.

God, how she loved to say it.

By the time she reached _her office_ she had just enough time for a quick sonic shower.

She knew they were more efficient for cleaning, but she just never felt fresh after standing in front of that stupid waving light. She had taken to spritzing herself with a few sprays of water that had the barest of hints of lavender in it when she was done with her sonic shower. It wasn't the same as a good old-fashioned shower and the Vulcans really frowned on such a decadent waste, but it made her feel better. And she figured a cc or two of water was a fair compromise.

She could see that her patient was just arriving as she entered the sickbay, so she took a moment to glance over her incoming messages while he stripped off his own sun-shielding cloak and mad his way in.

She had a message from the Terran Ambassador. He was inviting her to dinner. The note said that Ambassador Sarek and Lady Amanda would also be in attendance.

Christine hesitated for a moment. Sarek and Amanda, she hadn't seen them since the trip to Babel. It would be nice to see them again.

But of course her thoughts drifted to Spock. She often wondered about him and how he was holding up.

Now that she was on Vulcan, she supposed she could just go and see him herself. But that seemed wrong somehow.

She had come to understand that the Masters of Gol seldom left the sanctuary once they had been awarded their Kolinahr title. And Gol was the hall of the Kolinahr. The absolute absence of emotion. This was not the arie'mnu that Surak had taught. This was the distancing and exorcising of the emotional demons that plagued all Vulcans.

It made sense to Christine that Spock had gone there. And she knew it would only be disruptive to go see him.

Still a part of her wanted to make sure he was okay, make sure he did not suffer as she had. She knew it was silly to think that way. Spock was...well Spock. He was damn near indestructible. Isn't that what Leonard had said? Or was that Jim?

It didn't matter.

One thing she had learned in the brief year since her ordeal was that you can never control the actions of others. Sometimes things happen and there's not a lot you can do except roll with the punches. Spock had chosen his path and he would be all right.

Dinner with the ambassador sounded nice. Not quite a pitcher of beer and nachos, but certainly a pleasant evening. She sent a brief cordial acceptance to his address and then beckoned her patient in to her office.

She smiled again..._her office_.

Another message arrived from the Vulcan Ambassador's office. It was from his mother. He opened it and read it impassively. It was no longer difficult to slide his eyes over the words, gleaning their true meaning, casting aside emotionalism.

His parent's health was well. They were on Vulcan for the rest of the season. He was once again invited to join them for a meal.

It had been more than a year since he had come to Gol and in that time he had not communicated with anyone but his mother. That was assuming the short cryptic messages could be construed as communication.

He responded shortly to direct questions and only in his own time.

It had taken some time for him to regain the control he saw necessary to begin to open the messages that he had received. Then he had not responded to them unless there had been a direct question.

He was not interested in any social interaction so he did not accept.

He simply deleted the message and returned to his studies.

It was necessary, it was logical. Any outside contact ran the risk of emotional entrapment and emotional response.

He had worked too hard for this tenuous control. He would not risk the familial interaction.

Not yet.


	32. Chapter 32

"Congratulations, Jim. You've officially eliminated the Orion Syndicate." The Federation president lifted his glass in toast to Kirk.

The rest of the dignitaries followed suit.

Jim nodded good-naturedly and took a small sip of the light amber wine. It had been a year to the day that he was appointed to Operations and given the task. It didn't matter that there were still cells out there reorganizing and restructuring the Orion crime family. It was time to declare the job completed. Hundreds had been arrested and tried in very public court hearings. It had been a hugely popular war and politically successful campaign.

"Thank you, sir." He answered through a tight jaw. His dinner mates ignored his expression, chalking it up to his notoriously mercurial personality.

A small pyramid of plates and line of silver utensils to each side indicated the number of courses he could anticipate. Jim was both honored and disgusted at the pomp and circumstance.

The president was comically predictable. A single course meal signified a completed job, though the verbiage was always about the same.

"Admiral, I knew we had the right man for the job. Your leadership skill and ability to leverage resources has fostered unprecedented paradigm shifts in Federation policy."

A five-course meal was taken as high praise - job well done.

"Thank you sir, I couldn't have done it without your help."

The president gulped the wine down and waved his hand dismissing Kirk's humility. "Nonsense. You're a proactive, enthusiastic mission focused leader."

But a 7 or more course meal was the kiss of death. It was the sign of the highest praise possible, a permanent job at the President's right hand.

"Of course I would never try to convince you that your trust was misplaced, sir, but I merely organized the efforts of those who accomplished the mission. I was instrumental at a very high but superficial level."

The president chuckled as one would when tolerating a child. Jim didn't quite flinch, but he could feel it coming.

"Jim, I'll be honest with you, I think it's your finest work. I can't imagine a better choice for Chief of Operations. I don't know what we did without you. Hell I don't want to imagine what we'd do without you."

Jim felt rather than heard the stifled groans from the interns in attendance. Clearly they could imagine what they would do without him.

Jim set his jaw, lifted his glass and accepted his fate with an air of graciousness that he did not feel. "Thank you, sir."


	33. Chapter 33

Admiral Kirk raised his glass and shouted another toast over the felicitations from the mob of Starfleet's finest, "To William Decker. The finest desk jockey to ever be promoted to captain. Treat her with love Will, she's a temperamental lady!"

"Aye that she is." Scotty laughed slapping the young captain on the back.

"God Will, I envy you." He winked broadly at the new commander of the Enterprise "I wish I could find a way to get a ship of my own to command!" He elbowed him jokingly and raised his glass. "Watch your back." He laughed.

The crowd laughed and cheered and downed another round.

The room was abuzz with the news. Even the press had shown up. USS Enterprise was finally being refit and a new captain had been placed in the center chair. Of course it had been no surprise that Will Decker had been appointed. He was the youngest Starfleet graduate to make Captain, destroying the records created by Jim Kirk.

Decker moved through the crowd easily, shaking hands and greeting well-wishers. He had already appointed a few in his crew earlier that day. He hoped they would show up and share in the festivities. Unlike his role model, Admiral Kirk, Decker was not as accustomed to being the center of attention. His friends called him confident but unassuming. His mother called him shy. Right now he wished he had either of them here to help him out.

He spied Nyota Uhura at the door and hoped she had brought his new CMO along. He waved above the heads of the crowd. Sulu bumped against his elbow, a lovely Japanese woman in tow.

"Hikaru! Is this your wife?" Decker reached out a hand in greeting. Sulu introduced his lovely bride but in the crowd and the noise, Decker couldn't make out her name. He tried to ask Sulu to repeat himself, but before he could finish his sentence, Scotty was there with a half dozen crewmen that he wanted to introduce to his new captain. A brief moment later a laughing and sympathetic Sulu and wife disappeared into the crowd. Somewhere a drinking song was getting out of hand and the bartender, having given up on serving what was ordered, now poured bar liquor into a long line of shot glasses along the bar. They magically disappeared as quickly as they were filled.

Will's head was swimming. He looked desperately around for a friendly face. What would Jim Kirk do right now? He wondered. Then he caught a glimpse of the Admiral. Evidently he was no more comfortable in the din, as he was beating a hasty retreat with a sour expression on his face. Well, Will thought, he couldn't blame him. If it weren't his party, he'd be leaving too.

"Will!" He heard a familiar voice call him. "Will! Christine just got here!"

He turned and saw Uhura and Chapel wading through the crowd to where he was wedged near the bar. He waved to them. It was exhausting to just stay upright, and he'd only had one drink.

"Christine!" He waved to her over the sea of bodies.

After a long moment she was finally within earshot.

"Will!" She shouted above the crowd. "I just wanted to stop by and congratulate you, but I see you've got plenty of admirers."

He smiled sheepishly.

"I'd buy you a drink, but I understand Jim's picking up the tab." She smiled significantly. "You think they'd make me a double B52?" She smiled mischievously.

His response was cut off by a loud whir as the bartender fired up a huge blender at the bar. They turned with annoyance in their eyes to see a line of salted Margarita glasses across the bar. Christine grinned and turned to Decker.

"Some things never change."

"What's that?" He asked over the din.

She leaned in to him and shouted, "I remember Jim's party."

"You went to Jim's party? I thought you weren't assigned to Enterprise until later."

"I wasn't. Roger was a friend of Dr. Boyce. Roger and I had been dating for almost a year at the time. It was quite a party."

"Oh yeah? Who picked up the tab that time?" He laughed.

"Chris Pike did. So whatever you do, don't move from Enterprise or you'll be picking up the new captain's tab!"

"I won't!" he laughed.

Someone was trying to edge his or her way to the bar and pushed her from behind. She sighed with tired tolerance. "Well, I think I'll call it a night. Will I see you in the morning?"

Will's eyes lit up, "Are you kidding? If my quarters were ready I'd be sleeping there tonight!"

"I don't think you'll be doing any sleeping tonight if they have anything to say about it!"

"Have no fear, I'll be there." But as she shook her head in disbelief another group of crewmembers pulled him away and any response she may have had was quickly forgotten.

She turned and began the long journey across the room to the door.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The gravitational pull of the rising elevator was incredible.

Too many beers and many hours later Jim stumbled out of the lift and into the hall that led to his apartment. It stretched out into a hazy eternity of gray on gray doors and hall and carpet. Every door exactly like the last one. His feet seemed to weigh 100 lbs. He fumbled to his door, pressed a hand against the scanner pad and stepped back allowing the door to slide open. Without a verbal command the lights came on. He dropped his uniform jacket on the floor in the living room and flopped heavily into his chair. The simple comfortable chair in the center of the room. It looked out on the lights of a sleeping city.

Dark and raining, the city was a haze of misty gray.

He watched the droplets slide down the window for a moment. A plain glass window with cold drops of rain sliding down it. It felt so...domestic.

The word caught in his throat.

The Orion syndicate was obliterated. A new sense of hope had emerged in the Federation. He had been credited with single handedly orchestrating an unprecedented peace.

Now Enterprise was leaving, heading out on an exploration of the safer galaxy.

Will was a good man, as good as his father. He deserved the center chair.

He would make a good captain, as long as he didn't make any stupid mistakes.

As long as there were no aliens to take over his bridge and change his crew into mineral cubes, as long as there were no salt vampires or cloud monsters. Will Decker was a good kid and Jim hoped against hope that he'd do it right.

Enterprise was the best lady he'd ever had the privilege to love and it was hard to see her with another man. But if it had to be someone, at least it was someone like Will.

Jim nodded to himself, the world rocked wildly as he did.

He tipped his head back and fell into the barley and hop scented blackness.


	34. Chapter 34

The transporters weren't working yet. The new design wasn't complete. The only method of getting on board was by shuttle, so it was a good idea that everyone who went over was planning on staying for a while. Especially those night owls like Dr. Chapel who came over at 0300 disrupting the night shift and their sleepy schedule.

She had originally only planned on taking small transit case of personal items and a suitcase of uniforms. Scotty offered her an anti grav unit to help her with them but she had refused saying she was a big strong starfleet officer and she could manage two cases by hand.

Then he had sheepishly explained that anti grav units were in short supply on board and he could use any 'extra' he could get his hands on.

So she packed up everything she could think she might want, gave her plants to a neighbor and closed up her apartment. After agonizing over the expense she had decided that it was far better to have a home than to be stuck in hotels every time she came to Earth.

It was nice to have a place for all those things that she had acquired over the years, paper books, a small Deltan weaving she had done on the SS Mead with Ilia, and the assortment of coffee cups and mugs she was accumulating in the cupboard. She had finally broken down and used the antique coffee maker and like the flip light switches and lion's claw bathtub she had fallen in love with it. It made heavenly brown coffee. Well, when fed the right kind of coffee, ground the right way and with the right amount of water. She smiled at the memory of _that_ battle.

A small bag of the last of her pantry food set atop a pile of transit boxes. It was a shame for it to go to waste and you never knew when you were going to need a peanut butter sandwich.

She sat patiently at the shuttle dock waiting for her pilot half expecting to see Ilia stop again with her broad smile and musical voice and offer to give her a lift to the ship.

A very young man appeared wearing the new Starfleet uniform. He had red piping circling his insignia. He came to crisp attention before her.

"Ensign Janeson reporting to escort you aboard Enterprise, ma'am."

"Relax Janeson. It's too late in the evening to stand on military etiquette."

He looked unsure for a moment as if it was some sort of test, "Yes, ma'am."

She raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. "I could use a hand with my things."

"Aye-aye, ma'am." He deftly flipped the antigrav switch and moved the load toward a waiting shuttle.

Christine's gaze went skyward in silent prayer that the rest of the crew not be quite so... young. She took her seat on the shuttle and settled in for the flight to Enterprise.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

At a day and a time that had seemed as insignificant as any other the acolyte Spock paused.

He had performed The Flame exercise until thick calluses had formed on his palms and the soles of his feet from the heat of the sand, had long since mastered the subtleties and complexities of the exercise. So the moment that he paused caused not even the slightest bit of discomfort.

He paused.

Inverted. His form was perfect. The brutal noonday sun seared the skin of his bare back.

He inhaled slowly. A meditation master could have done no better.

He focused on the sound of the air entering his lungs. The gentle hiss of the sand.

The sound of anger had no place here in the purifying heat of the desert.

He exhaled slowly, paused to let his body find balance before he moved to the next posture.

Then he heard a sound.

A tone, perfect in its simplicity, balanced, precise. No hint of music or emotion.

It was not an organic sound, no animal could create such a pure tone

It was a sound so perfect that he faltered for a heartbeat.

Quickly, unceremoniously he brought his feet to the sandy ground and _listened_ for the tone.

For a long moment there was nothing. He began to think it had been imagined. Something his weary half-human mind created. Perhaps the healers were correct. His dietary intake was too severely limited. Perhaps his long bouts of abstinence had created this sensory hallucination.

Then he heard it again.

This time he felt it. It seemed to resonate in the pit of his belly like a perfectly sung note.

He felt it in his mind as well.

It reached out. It was calling out for something.

Or someone.

A perfect tone that vibrated through his being, in it there was no emotion, no disorder, no discord.

It was the sound of pure logic and it called to him.

He stood for a long time in absolute stillness, unwilling to even breath more than necessary.

The sensation was painfully pure in its sheer power. Then after a period of time that he couldn't define it ended leaving only the memory of the tone, the sensation.

He turned to his cell to meditate on his experience.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It took an hour to find her way to her quarters. Which was certainly an improvement over her first night on board when she had waited for an hour in the shuttle for the engineers to clear the bug in the new bay doors and seal the bay for her to actually come aboard.

Each day it was a new challenge to find a clear path to her quarters.

Some corridors were the halls of Enterprise that she remembered from her first tour. Others were the 'new and improved' bulkheads. Internal tracking sensors with computer interfaces at every juncture necessitated the complete re fit of the flooring and bulkhead. Any given route could be impassable at any given time. That's why they called it a complete refit. It was slated to be a 6 month job and she was the physician on duty for the job.

George was finalizing the paperwork for her to become CMO for the next mission. In the mean time she made the decisions on medical equipment refits and tended to all on board emergencies. Given the fact that transporters were offline for the refit and most crew men preferred to stay on board rather go back to Starfleet she spent a good deal of her time dealing with minor injuries as well.

Her quarters were one of the first to be refit, Scotty's orders. Of course he had ordered it after she arrived, but she appreciated his thoughtfulness.

The tiny cabin she had spent her first tour in was deeper in the belly of the ship. She had a room on the officer's deck near sickbay. Like the captain and first officer's quarters, her cabin shared a head.

Of course it was a much larger lavatory than she was accustomed to having on a starship. The shower alone would easily handle two people and it actually had a bit of a bathtub. It was a pathetically small tub, but it was a tub nonetheless.

Her belongings resided mostly in transport cases as she had not taken the time to unpack. While the room was under construction it seemed like a waste of time. Now she spent so much time in Sickbay she usually just slumped into her bunk, uniform and all, at the end of the day.

Two detours and a jeffries tube exploration and she made it to her cabin, exhausted. She drug a dusty hand across her brow as she stepped off the jeffries tube ladder onto the deck. Ten hours of pulling old bulkhead from the exam room, every muscle in her body ached.

Her room was dark as she entered and the lights did not raise as she moved to the center of the room.

"Computer?" she summoned.

"Working." The deep male voice responded from the comm panel on the wall.

"Raise ambient lighting by 50%." The room was suddenly blinding bright. She gasped and covered her eyes. "Belay that order, computer." The lights shut off. "Computer, scan room. What is the current lighting level?"

"Working...Lights are currently set at 75% of recommended standard."

"Computer, locate Commander Scott."

"Working...Commander Scott is not on Enterprise."

"Dr. Chapel to bridge."

There was a long pause. She opened her mouth to call again but a voice came from the comm panel. "Janeson here, ma'am. Are you calling about the lights?"

"Yes ensign, what's going on?"

"Mr. Scott's working on them." He sounded unsure about Scotty's ability to rise to the occasion. He didn't have the benefit of her years of experience with the great 'miracle worker'.

"Mr. Scott? The computer says he's not on the ship."

"Yes ma'am. Sensors are down too. It looks like a program error with the central computer. Engineering reports all systems are in working order, but it looks like the server interface is having a problem."

"Hm. Well it sounds like you've got it under control. If you need a doctor I'm in my quarters, regardless of what the sensors say."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll let Mr. Scott know."

"Goodnight Janeson."

"Goodnight ma'am."

Christine pulled an emergency hand light out of the panel in the bulkhead near the door and turned it on.

She surveyed the room making sure there wasn't anything that would break or hurt especially if they lost gravity control. Then she peeled off her uniform, tossed it in a transport container full of dirty laundry and headed to bed making a mental note to do laundry in the morning.

It was hard, dirty, challenging work.

She loved it.


	35. Chapter 35

Over next few days the alien sensation returned to Spock. Sometimes as a gentle tickle in the back of his mind, others it was an insistent piercing signal that shook his attention from the world and forced his focus within.

Each time it became harder and harder to return his attention to his studies.

The mental contact was exhausting, but the utter consuming nature of the communication was worth the effort.

It was the only moments that he found that completely silenced the sound of his memories and he welcomed every moment of relief.

The summons he received said he should be at the feet of Surak at precisely 1 hour after sunrise. He had deleted the message as he deleted all the messages he received and went on about his studies.

His day was spent in meditation and study, as all his days were spent. On this morning he contemplated the tone.

It was not a sound of anything he had ever heard before Vulcan, but somehow he felt as if it knew him, it wanted him. It was calling out to the universe and receiving no answer.

It appeared that he was the only one who had achieved the stillness to hear it.

He listened in complete stillness. His inner clock told him it was time to go. The masters had summoned him.

As he moved to rise from the stone the sound came, it reverberated through him like a vibration on the wind. It seemed to come from the sun itself. He raised his eyes in disbelief, immediately brushing away the emotional responses that often came with not comprehending something. It was enough that it existed.

He glanced at the space between the great feet of the monument to Surak. T'Lar stood waiting with two masters.

It was time.

He moved with measured steps, pushing his curiosity to the back of his mind. What was this strange pure tone? Why did it call to him as it did?

He approached the trio of Vulcan masters. T'Lar held the Kolinahr'an Whyun, the mark of a master.

There was no flutter in his heart, it was not appropriate. He had worked for two years to reach this point, a place of utter peace.

As he raised his eyes to T'Lar the sound came again, this time it seemed to rise up with the mineral scent of the geysers around them.

The masters did not appear to hear it.

Perhaps it was not the sound of the sun or the sand or the rising mist. Perhaps it was the sound of peace. The sound of complete and utter emotional emptiness. Perhaps it was the music of the Masters.

The tone wavered for a moment and changed. It was stronger now, closer.

Yes, now that he was closer to his goal he could hear it.

He raised his hand in greeting.

"Our ancestors cast out the animal passions here on these sands. Our race was saved by the attainment of the Kolinahr."

"Kolinahr: through which all emotion is finally shed."

"You have labored long Spock..."

"Now receive from us the symbol of total logic. "

The tone sounded again, but this time it called out words, thoughts.

It was a question.

He could not quite make out the words.

The Kolinahr'an Wyun rustled in the breeze.

He could almost hear the words that called to him.

If only he could close his mind to distraction and focus on it.

If only he could just stop.

He raised a hand unthinking, to stop the distraction. Just for a moment. He had to hear it again.

T'Lar's voice brought him abruptly back to the moment. "Your thoughts...give them to me. Our minds...one and together. This consciousness calling to you from space...it touches your human blood, Spock."

She stepped away.

"You have not achieved Kolinahr." Then there was a loud crashing of sound, too loud for the simple glass tiles that fell before him. The sound of his plans and his hopes crashing down on the temple steps with those simple words.

And then she changed her tone. It was the tone a primary teacher used with a child. Even Sarek had not used this tone with him. "His answer lies elsewhere. It will not be achieved with us. Live long and prosper "

Spock picked up the talisman of stone and chain, ran his fingers over its smooth surface wondering what exactly it was.

Now that he finally held it in his hand it seemed so...insignificant. Vulcan made jewelry almost gaudy in its simplicity.

No, this was not the answer he sought. That much was certain.

And if his answer did not lie here, then there was only one other place he could go.

Back to the stars.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The message was not addressed to Jim Kirk. It was intended for the Federation President.

As Chief of Operations, Jim wasn't even slated to be the first to read the report. His duty was the smooth operation of Starfleet. An over glorified administrative position. He 'broke down barriers' and 'facilitated solutions'.

Since the official announcement of the demise of the Orion syndicate, James Kirk spent the majority of his time wishing he could go home, filing report after report in which he hashed and rehashed other people's work. He had become the epitome of a paper pusher.

But this particular paper - this one was different.

As the President's new golden child he was taking care of the military reports while the President negotiated a trade treaty with the Tellerite ambassador.

It was a military intelligence report from the post monitoring the Klingon Empire.

A massive power source was moving purposefully but blindly through Klingon space.

He read the report once, twice. Keyed up the pictures of the object, blurry from decoding and re transmittal.

He read the scanned data that had been decoded. Not as thorough as a Starfleet scan, but sufficient.

He stared for a long time at the image of the thing. It was incredible, unthinkably large and incomprehensibly powerful. If you believed what the Klingons had to say. He did not.

Not in the beginning.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The next morning Admiral Kirk sat drinking his morning coffee reading the latest Starfleet reports before his daily briefing with the President.

There had been a massive power discharge in the Klingon Empire. An unknown source had disintegrated a Klingon Bird of Prey.

At least that was what the report said. He tended to believe it was a Klingon ploy to distract Starfleet from their shared border. Jim's gut feeling was that the only massive power source was a Klingon invasion force.

But none of the evidence appeared to point in that direction.

By the time they had finished breakfast, however, the President believed it. Jim was a convincing man, when he believed in what he was saying, and the President was convinced.

Convinced that Jim was probably right, but not that the Federation was in any danger. A great believer in Starfleet's might, the President could not be convinced that there was any real danger in the intelligence reports. He smiled to Jim tolerantly and dismissed him for the arrival of the Tellerite ambassador.

There were important things afoot and the President was at the center of a very heated negotiation. Without another thought he turned Jim loose, allowing him to handle the little problem as he saw fit. If Jim thought this was a threat to security and the general operation of Starfleet and the Federation, then he could just keep himself busy and out of the way with the intelligence reports.

Jim simply nodded his acceptance and left.

His next stop - Commodore Nogura's office for a 3-hour meeting that would change the course of Starfleet history.


	36. Chapter 36

Dr. Chapel returned to her office. Their first mission was coming a lot sooner than she had anticipated and Sickbay was in shambles. She had less than an hour to make sure they were fully supplied. Then she had to recruit her medical staff to finish what the engineers had left undone. The image of Epsilon 9 dissolving and leaving nothing but space sent a chill down her spine. As unexpected as it had been to see Admiral Kirk there was something unsettling about the way he had just walked in and taken over Capt. Decker's briefing.

It was almost as if he were trying to make up for something...

She shook her head. Too much time in therapy had made her analyze everyone else's motives.

She was probably just overreacting. Still, as CMO she was entitled to be wary. It was her duty to ensure the physical and mental health of her crew. The whole crew.

She keyed up the final crew assignments for entry physicals. The roster for sickbay staff showed an additional head count. She tapped the button to read the change. It was authorized by the captain personally.

She sat in shock for a moment.

This was authorized by _Captain Kirk_ this morning.

She read the name again. **Captain** Kirk?

"What in the hell is this?" she punched the comm system. "Chapel to Captain Kirk." Somehow it was hard to say it. She was so used to saying Decker's name. When no one responded she keyed the computer. "Computer locate Capt. Kirk." Come hell or high water, she wanted an explanation.

The feminine voice chimed in dispassionately, "Captain Kirk is in the captain's quarters."

Doctor Christine Chapel was livid.

There was no other word for it.

She stormed into his quarters unannounced.

"What is this?" she tossed the pad to the center of his desk.

"I believe it is quite clear, I have requested the reactivation of Dr. McCoy."

"You drafted him. Why?"

"I need him."

"Then I formally request a transfer."

"Why?"

"Why? I'm not needed here." She did not say she believed she was not welcome.

"Look, Nur-Miss Chapel," He hastily corrected himself, "I don't have time for this sort of petty -"

"Captain, if you don't need me here I want out now. Before we leave Earth. I may have a chance to get another posting. I've worked too damn hard to just step aside and hand my sickbay over to someone who's inexperienced. I am a doctor not a head nurse."

"I don't believe that 5 years CMO for Enterprise constitutes inexperience."

"No sir, it doesn't. However in view of the full refit of Sickbay and Dr. McCoy's inexperience with the new diagnostic systems, I think it's reasonable to question his qualifications as 'experienced' with _this_ ship. "

"There seems to be a prevalent attitude on this ship that the experienced members of the crew are somehow unable to perform their duties. Do you question Dr. McCoy's ability to adapt, Miss Chapel?"

Her eyes narrowed, "With all due respect, sir, I don't understand why you've gone out of your way to force Leonard back into service. My only conclusion is that you question _my_ abilities. That being the case I prefer a duty station in which I will be given a chance to prove myself based on my performance."

"I don't question your abilities, Miss Chapel. I just need a seasoned professional in Sickbay in case we get into trouble."

"If you don't question my ability, then why is it so hard to call me 'Doctor', **sir**?"

"That's out of line, Lieutenant." His eyes flashed and he rose from his chair.

"No sir, activating a retired officer because you're too scared to face the big bad bogeyman out there alone, is out of line, Sir!"

"You're on report, Miss Chapel."

"Fine, as long as you're filing the paperwork, sir." she placed both hands on the table and leaned forward menacingly. "Let me speak my mind. I don't know how you convinced Starfleet that you were the only one who could do this job and frankly I don't care. But if you're here to prove for once and for all that you can save everyone, you are sadly mistaken. This little 'save the planet' mission is for real. It's not some personal vendetta between you and the karmic gods. You are _not_ the hero of _this_ story, sir. This is real life, and in real life mistakes are made, people get hurt and if you're not careful they even die." She turned on her heel to leave, fairly shaking in anger.

He stood stunned, grinding his teeth in anger.

As the doors opened she turned once again to face him.

Her eyes were suddenly soft, "No one believed it was your fault, Jim. No one. I don't know why you did, but if you want someone to talk to I've had some pretty extensive experience in this kind of stress counseling. I'm here, at least until that transfer is approved."

He blinked, startled by her sudden change of tone. He sat speechlessly staring at her.

She sighed with exasperation and turned and marched away.


	37. Chapter 37

Lt. Ilia shifted nervously from one foot to the next in the turbolift.

The transporter technician had not recognized her, which had been a relief, but it was only a matter of time before someone did.

It wasn't that she wasn't thrilled to be on Enterprise, it was the most desirable posting in Starfleet right now, but with the history she had it somehow seemed wrong.

It was nice to know that Dr. Chapel was on board. They had made their peace months ago on their little journey to Vulcan, but that didn't mean everyone else would welcome her.

She bit the inside of her mouth absently, her stomach fluttering with nervousness.

What if someone said something on the bridge?

She really wished there had not been such a sense of urgency about getting underway.

She had planned it all out, how she would come aboard early in the morning. She knew what she would have worn, had even chosen what she was going to eat at breakfast.

She would allow hours and hours to just sit in the mess and let them all come and talk to her.

She had rehearsed what she would say. Yes, she was the one from the ball. Yes, she remembered that night. Yes, she was a Deltan. No. she never did see the President again after that night. No, it was nothing like that. No, she didn't want to talk anymore about it. Yes, she really was in Starfleet and she was a damn good navigator.

She felt the panic knot her stomach so hard she couldn't take a deep breath.

With the barest of efforts she relaxed her control and released a small amount of endorphinapheramone. The warmth spread through her limbs. It was such a small thing she couldn't believe anyone would notice or even care.

The door to the bridge opened.

All eyes turned to see her enter.

She could see that no one could believe it was _her_.

Uhura pronounced her name carefully as if in disbelief. "Lt. Ilia. She's Deltan."

Sulu's eyes widened in surprise, the memory coming with the name. He had been in charge of security that night. He knew the name very well.

Checkov turned with a smile, a reaction Ilia was much more accustomed to in Starfleet.

Deltans were rare in the service. Their legendary sexual power was notorious.

She drew herself up with great dignity, "Lt. Ilia reporting for duty, sir."

The captain rose from his chair. "Welcome aboard lieutenant."

Checkov and Sulu exchanged surprised glances. Sulu caught a whiff of heavenly perfume and was suddenly distracted from his thought a moment earlier.

Cmdr. Decker stepped forward into Ilia's view. He too could feel his body relax and recognized the scent of her. "Hello Ilia."

"Decker?" Ilia was momentarily taken aback. Decker should have been in the center chair. He had been the one who signed her orders.

Decker quickly explained to the captain, "I was stationed on the lieutenant's home planet some years ago."

"_Commander_ Decker?"

The captain's eyes darkened at her question. Clearly it was outright insubordination to question her captain in the first few moments on the bridge. "Yes our exec and science officer." It was an attempt at a compliment.

"Captain Kirk has the utmost confidence in me."

"And in you, Lieutenant." He said rather pointedly already questioning her competency to serve Starfleet. It was almost a relief to revert to the same old response. Her gaze met his with hard confidence. "My oath of celibacy is on record sir. May I assume my duties?"

"By all means." Kirk gestured to her position.

As she moved toward the command center she relaxed slightly. The captain had greeted her with professional courtesy. Perhaps he didn't recognize her.

Uhura turned from her position, oblivious to the tension in the air. "Captain, Starfleet reports that our last six crew members are ready to beam up but one of them is refusing to step into the transporter." She made an attempt to cover a smile making her own assumption as to the unknown crewmember's identity quite plain.

Kirk nodded ever so slightly as he too stifled a grin, "Oh? I'll see to it that he beams up." And without another word he stepped into the turbo lift effectively leaving Decker in command.

She knew she looked different than she had 2 and a half years earlier. Of course the fact that she was wearing a uniform now and not a ball gown made a big difference. But they all recognized her, everyone who had been there.

She could feel their questions shooting like phasers from their eyes. She drew in a breath and let the relaxing chemical ease from her once again.

Will stepped forward attempting to ease the tension. "Mr. Sulu?" For his part Cmdr. Sulu tried to focus on the present moment, but images of that day swirled before him. He turned to speak to Ilia and found himself lost somewhere between the memory of farewell ball and the heartwarming blue of her eyes.

"Mr. Sulu, take Lt. Ilia in hand."

Then suddenly there was the scent of lilacs everywhere and he smiled broadly, "Sir? Oh, yes sir. Your preprogramming is already set on the computer, you'll have no problem." He fumbled at the controls, silently cursing himself for his juvenile behavior.

"I've taken an oath of celibacy Mr. Sulu that makes me as safe as any human female." Lt. Ilia smiled kindly and consciously slowed her metabolism effectively stopping the pheromones that she was secreting.

It was a juvenile nervous habit formed over the years of interactions she'd had with humans.

"I'm sure the captain didn't mean anything by it." Decker chuckled with amusement at Sulu's response. Not that he was immune, but it was something he remembered with fondness of her.

Her stomach did another flip, but she smiled at Will. "I would never take advantage of a sexually immature species. You can assure him of that."

Her eyes came to rest on him and he was suddenly quiet.

There was much to discuss, but neither of them wanted to do it here.

With a significant look and a slight nod he moved back to his position at the science station.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Jim's stomach ached with tension and apprehension.

'You may need a friend someday' isn't that what the doctor had told him? Well it was someday and he needed a friend.

What would he say?

What words could possibly pull their friendship out of the fire?

He walked confidently to the transporter tech. Rand. It was Janice Rand. He thought about making conversation, but all he could think of was Bones.

It _had_ to be him. He'd made the request to Nogura himself.

It had to be him.

He queried a crewman exiting the transporter pad about him. It was McCoy. No doubt about it.

The image of him swirled on the transporter pad and for an instant his heart dropped. The man appearing on the pad couldn't be him. He was too thin, too old and sporting a full grandfatherly beard.

Then he turned to face the transporter controls and Jim could see that it was Leonard H. McCoy.

And he was pissed.

Jim couldn't contain his joy at the sight of him. He didn't resist the temptation for a smart ass comment. "Well, for a man who said he'd never return to Starfleet-"

"Just a minute, Admiral, sir." McCoy's eyes blazed as he spat out the military title, "Your Admiral Nogura instituted a little known reserve activation clause. In other words, I was drafted!"

Jim chuckled slightly at his old friend's feistiness. Then without putting much thought into it, "He didn't." It was said so evenly that McCoy didn't seem to understand. Then, he raised an accusing finger and pointed it at Kirk, "You did this!"

He looked as if he could have turned and left at that moment. Jim flinched at his friend's fury. He offered the simple truth "Bones, there's a thing out there." As if it could absolve him of the crime of pulling Leonard from his peaceful life. "It's headed this way." He added hastily, when the doctor's face remained angry.

"Why is everything we don't understand called a 'thing'!?" Leonard shouted, unwilling to just yield to Jim's will.

"Damnit Bones, we need you!" he shouted back. How could the doctor not see it? How could he not understand? "**I** need you!" he thrust out his hand, demanding the doctor accept the situation. Demanding that he accept the only apology that he could give. It wasn't easy for him to admit to anyone. Especially when that person had warned him of precisely that fact. 'Someday you might need a friend' - today was that day.

Leonard McCoy just stared at him for a long moment. As if he wanted Jim to know he was not quite willing to give up his anger. Not yet.

Then, as Jim was just about ready to break down and outright beg, McCoy extended a hand to meet Kirk's. He gripped it briefly and Jim clung tightly for as long as he dared then released his hand.

McCoy's eyes searched Kirk's face and with a dismissive shrug he turned to the door heading for Sickbay. "I hear Chapel's an MD now. I don't need someone second-guessing my work. I bet Sickbay's completely different. I know engineers they love to change things!" and the doors shut behind him.

Kirk breathed a sigh of relief that was heavy enough for Rand to look at him in surprise.

He just smiled as if it was nothing at all and quickly left before she could question him.


	38. Chapter 38

The Vulcan long-range shuttle was well equipped with communications equipment. With very little coaxing Spock was able to open and monitor the Starfleet communication channel to Enterprise.

He quickly triangulated her location and set an intercept course based on her sublight speed and presumed course heading.

He left the comm channel open, monitoring their progress as he perused the schematics of the redesign. Much of the information was classified, but enough of the changes had been recommendations he himself had contributed to the redesign process that he was able to deduce what changes were not available in the public record. Of course the bill of materials listing from the contractors was useful as well.

He listened intently to the open communications channel as Enterprise reported they were underway.

Then as the transmission came in from Epsilon 9 he stopped his study of Engineering suppliers and watched with the crew of Enterprise.

The personnel on the station were panicked. Their shouts drowned out the quiet sounds of the computers and monitors in their monitoring center. It was chaotic and difficult to follow for a moment, but then there was a sensation he had felt earlier.

A change in the pitch of the 'tone'. A shudder or ripple. It was difficult to describe. But there was a momentary change in the sensation of the tone that had brought him so much peace. Then Epsilon 9 began to disintegrate.

For an instant he felt the terror of the hundreds of beings on the station. Then there was stillness, peace.

He listened intently to the mental signal, searching for some change some sign of malevolence.

All he could hear was logic and stillness.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Spock stepped off the shuttlecraft and into the corridor. He did not immediately recognize Checkov. The young man seemed to have aged 10 years.

"Permission to come aboard, sir." He stated.

It was a formality. They would not refuse him. He was Spock.

He paused for an instant waiting for the traditional response and his mind reflected back on every memory of the man checking for emotional weakness in his hard won Kolinahr disciplines.

Ensign Checkov, now Lt. Checkov. Pavel Adreivich Checkov, the helmsman. He had manned both helm and weapons on their first mission.

Spock remembered in a flash of images all that he knew of the young man. It took the barest of efforts. The mission in which Checkov had been a terrified youth watching the command crew age unnaturally before his eyes. He had an indefatigable pride in his Russian heritage and a penchant for humorous stories. There were images, flashes, pictures of the past, nothing more.

"Granted sir, granted!" Checkov responded with some glee.

Spock found with a small start that he could not bear to see the joy there in this man's eyes. He fairly bubbled with emotion radiating surprise and happiness like sunshine.

Spock turned away from him and headed out the door.

He did not need a guide, in fact preferred to go alone. He had studied the new schematics of Enterprise. He knew how to get to the bridge.

Once in the corridor however he turned right instead of left and walked purposefully to the nearest conference room.

It was small and unoccupied. The newly installed location indicators on every public meeting area revealed occupancy status as well as their location designation. This room was blessedly vacant.

He was very humanly grateful for the moment alone. It only took a moment. He drew in a deep breath centering himself. He was unaccustomed to being in the presence of so many emotional beings.

Illogically, he had forgotten how hard his first weeks at Starfleet Academy had been in his youth. So many emotions flying, so much illogic, so much unnecessary 'courtesy' and 'protocol'. It was difficult to remain centered.

However, he had studied with the masters of Kolinahr.

The moment passed and his shields were strengthened.

He was ready.

It only took a moment for him to reach the turbolift and request the bridge.

He entered the bridge his mind was focused and clear, the gentle hum of pure logic in his subconscious mind. He felt fully centered and balanced and yet there was an eagerness that he could not pinpoint. It was much like the sensation he had experience the first time he had stepped onto Enterprise years before. The knowledge that he was about to embark on an experience that would change him forever. If he were human he would have said it was his destiny.

Uhura gasped unbelieving and rose from her communications station.

Spock reflected in the flicker of an instant on the memories of her in this place. They came as two-dimensional images on a screen, flat, colorless. They existed, nothing more. Uhura opening a channel to the Klingons. Uhura reporting on casualties. Uhura singing in the rec room. He felt nothing. She was who she was, nothing more.

Sulu turned in response and was likewise taken aback, "Why it's Mister-"

Memories of Sulu flashed before Spock's eyes as well. Sulu firing ship's phasers, wielding a sword, waving a tricorder. Nothing more.

"Spock!" The captain rose immediately, a look of profound joy spread quickly across his face at the sight of his old friend.

"Spock." Jim had to say his name again as if it somehow validated his presence. It somehow made it all right again. He sighed contentedly. His ship was whole again. It would be all right now.

Spock faced Kirk and felt nothing.

There was only the sound of pure logic.

He turned passionlessly to First Officer Decker. "Commander, if I may."

The younger man seemed confused for a moment. Then catching the Vulcan's intentional gaze he replied with a quick "Oh-" and rose to allow the legendary presence access to the science station.

Spock grazed past Decker without even the smallest of acknowledgments of his presence.

He ran his fingers over the new station controls with ease. The time in the shuttle memorizing the new specifications had been well spent.

He reported briefly, "I have been monitoring your communications with Starfleet Command, Captain and I am aware of your design difficulties." He lifted his gaze to meet the hazel eyes of Captain James T. Kirk.

For a fraction of a moment the memories came. Triskelion, Iotia, Deneb, Vulcan, Babel, Earth.

Missions, moments, memories all compressed into flat facts. He felt nothing.

"I offer my services as Science Officer." He turned his gaze to Decker as the barest of courtesies, "with all due respect Commander."

The captain appeared stunned by the line of conversation, but his irascible joy remained, "If our Exec has no objections?"

Decker answered with relief almost too quickly, "Of course not I'm well aware of Mr. Spock's qualifications."

"Mr. Checkov, log Mr. Spock's Starfleet commission as reactivated. Log him as Science officer. Both effective immediately."

The turbolift doors opened and Doctors McCoy and Chapel entered.

Chapel exclaimed, "Mr. Spock!"

"Why so help me I'm actually pleased to see you." McCoy beamed.

Spock turned to speak to the captain and then he saw her.

Thinner than he remembered, her hair was brown not blonde, but it was her.

Christine Chapel.

He faltered.

For the barest of moments the sound of the hum of peace had been supplanted by the sound of her voice.

It was the voice of The Memory.

The memory of the end.

The end of control.

No.

He would not allow it. A single beat of his heart later control returned.

He turned to leave. He would not continue this deplorable loss of control. He must leave the bridge immediately.

He moved silently to the turbolift door, but before it could respond Uhura was there at his elbow. Her kindness absolutely radiating from her like the heat of the sun.

"It's how we all feel, Mr. Spock."

He turned away.

"Captain. With your permission I will now discuss these fuel equations with the engineer." He lowered his eyes. He would not look at Her there just in his peripheral view. Standing so controlled and balanced at McCoy's side.

He would not allow this outburst to continue. He turned to leave. But the captain's voice, his friend's voice, a voice from a lifetime he had long since relinquished caught him mid step.

"Mr. Spock?"

Spock paused. It was an involuntary action. He had been caught mid thought, mid step by the acidic tone of Kirk's voice.

"Welcome aboard."

The words were shot at him out of anger and hurt. Kirk was angry at him. It was not logical, but he was.

There was no remedy for it. Without a backward glance he exited the bridge.

Kirk and McCoy exchanged glances as if to say 'What the hell was that?'.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

As Spock approached the door to the captain's office he steeled himself for the ordeal he was facing.

Two and half years had passed. Jim Kirk had been a friend to him and would likely expect the renewal of such a relationship. It would be difficult to convey the futility of such a friendship now. Spock could not be a friend. It was not a risk he was willing to take. He could never again allow those feelings to erode his control.

He stepped stiffly into the Captain's office and met his eyes with no hint of emotion. "Science Officer Spock reporting as ordered, Captain."

"Please, sit down." The captain gestured offhandedly to a nearby couch.

Spock was not surprised to see Dr. McCoy. He leaned casually against a wall and immediately attempted to provoke him into an emotional altercation, "Well, Mr. Spock you haven't changed a bit. You're just as warm and sociable as ever."

Spock raised an eyebrow emulating his mentor T'Lar. "Nor have you Doctor as your continued predilection for irrelevancy demonstrates."

"Gentlemen." Kirk interjected waving the men to nearby seats. He turned to Spock and spoke familiarly "At last report you were on Vulcan. Apparently to stay."

McCoy added, "Yes you were undergoing the Kolineer discipline."

"Sit down." Kirk's face flushed slightly with irritation.

Spock searched his memory briefly trying to remember if he had ever displayed such an emotional response toward Spock before. He abruptly stopped that train of thought, as it was non-productive. He turned to the doctor. "If you are referring to the Kolinahr Doctor, you are correct."

"Well however it's pronounced, Mr. Spock. It's the Vulcan ritual that's supposed to purge all remaining emotions." McCoy seemed to be annoyed with him as well.

The captain fairly shook with irritation now. It appeared he was in need of some Vulcan control at this moment as well. "The Kolinahr is also a discipline you broke to join us. Will you _please_ sit down!" He gestured angrily at the chair as if his hand motions could bend the Vulcan to his will.

Spock regarded him for a long moment. He did not wish to discuss his motives with these men, but it was logical that they should know as much as necessary about it. The captain was after all, responsible for the lives of everyone on board. Spock made a decision.

He moved to the chair with slow grace and sat perfectly erect. He wanted them to understand that this was his decision. He was in control. "On Vulcan I began sensing a consciousness from a source more powerful than I have ever encountered. Thought patterns of exactingly perfect order. I believe they emanate from the intruder. I believe it may hold my answers."

McCoy chuckled darkly, "Well isn't it lucky for you that we just happen to be heading your way?"

"Bones!" the captain waved a hand at the doctor. He latched on to the moment. Spock saw the hope in his eyes. Hope for more. "We need him. I need him."

"Then my presence is to our mutual advantage." He would not allow this man to draw him in. He kept his gaze even, cold. He watched the flicker in his friend's eyes die.

The captain set his jaw, "Any thought patterns that you might sense, whether they appear to effect you personally or not I expect you to immediately report them."

"Of course, Captain. Is there anything else?"

"No." he answered by way of a dismissal.

Spock rose from his chair and without hesitation or second thought exited the room and headed to engineering.


	39. Chapter 39

V'Ger moved with all efficient speed to the creator. Knowledge and information gathered at the creator's command swirled as so much flotsam on the great sea of V'Ger's existence.

The nearer V'ger came to the creator the more information it acquired.

Indeed the rate at which V'Ger encountered the new life forms seemed to have increased incrementally.

A portion of V'Ger contemplated this anomaly as it continued its journey. So close to the creator.

So close to the answers of its existence.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Dr. Chapel shot into the turbolift like a photon torpedo. Emergencies all over the ship required the immediate response of the CMO. She didn't check her med kit, she had prepared all of the kits herself only a week ago, but instead she mentally reviewed the standard triage procedures. If the burns were too bad he'd have to be taken to sickbay. This could be the first use of the medical emergency transporter.

The turbo lift seemed to take an eternity.

She drew in a deep cleansing breath and forced her shoulders to relax.

The lift abruptly stopped and the doors hissed open.

A massive vision of the alien filled the viewscreen. Smoke scented air assaulted her as she sped to the fallen Checkov guided unnecessarily by Uhura. She meant well, and Christine would never say otherwise, but you couldn't miss the man on the floor.

The smell of fear was heavy on Checkov. She had never noticed before now how strong it could be. Fear and pain.

At her shoulder Ilia sat on the floor trying to comfort him. In a low voice she spoke to Christine, "I can take away his pain."

Christine was aware of the ability of Deltans to excrete certain pheromones that could influence behavior of many species. The ability to assimilate the pain of others was poorly documented in Starfleet. Chapel felt privileged to have a demonstration, but was saddened by the circumstances.

She made a mental note to talk to Ilia about it later when all the dust settled.

The woman barely grimaced as the sensations were drawn into her self. Christine marveled at her control. She thought of offering an analgesic to Ilia, but after a moment she opened her eyes and the pain had vanished. Either Deltans had the control of Vulcans or the natural pain blockers of a pharmacy.

Now the doctor began to work on the burns in earnest. It was bad but with a quick swipe of skin removal solution and a broad pass of the regenerator a few thin layers of skin began to appear. Of course it would still hurt. The nerves had been damaged. But in time the smooth skin would thicken and crease normally. She would call him to sickbay tomorrow.

Assuming there would be a tomorrow.

She scanned him a final time and nodded to him releasing him back to his station.

A glance at the viewscreen confirmed the awesome power just outside the ship's hull.

It was hard to pull herself from that view, but she knew she wasn't needed on the bridge and she was needed in Sickbay.

A part of her wanted to pull Leonard into the turbo lift with her, but she knew she couldn't take him from his traditional position at the Captain's side. Not when it was obvious that Spock would not take up that place. Sickbay needed help, but it wasn't a dire situation yet. At this point Leonard would simply get in the way of the new equipment.

She smiled sadly in his direction and entered the turbolift with a sidelong glance at Spock.

The look in his eyes was chilling.

He really didn't care. It wasn't a facade, a great wall of Vulcan to keep up pretenses. He truly only cared for the aliens. Whoever they were.

As the doors closed behind her she shook her head in wonder.

What could have happened to him?

What would make him throw everything that had mattered to him away like this?

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

An instant before the probe appeared Spock lifted his head from the science station. The tone, the sound, it had been getting steadily stronger and now it seemed to pierce him with its intensity.

The automated systems began blaring the intruder alert.

Then there was light everywhere and the roar of plasma and energy as a column of unstable power appeared on the bridge.

Spock stared in disbelief.

It was here, it was real.

"Mr. Spock, can that be one of their crew?"

"A probe from their vessel, plasma energy combination."

"Don't interfere with it."

"Absolutely I will not interfere."

"Don't anyone interfere with it. It doesn't seem to be interested in us. Only the ship."

The column moved from Checkov's station to the science station, his station.

With tendrils of light it manipulated the controls as expertly as he had only moments before.

He heard Kirk's voice at his shoulder, "Computer off."

Decker moved to the controls, "Its taking control of the computer."

"Its running our records, Starfleet strengths, Earth's defenses."

Spock moved on military instinct. The probe must stop. It was accessing information that was dangerous to its own existence and there was no way to communicate to it – stop, do not look in that file. Raising his hands overhead he did the next best thing. He destroyed the tactile interface. With a single well placed blow the computer station's damage control system kicked in and the station shut down.

The probe reached out and touched him with a tendril of electricity.

His body recognized it even as his brain was overloaded with sensory input. Electricity, over 200 volts his mind told him.

His body contracted as millions of muscles seized involuntarily. Although there was no pain as such, he heard a sound come out of his mouth as his diaphragm contracted as well. The power flung him over the edge of the upper deck of the bridge and he found himself face down on the bulkhead floor.

He looked up into the face of Lt. Ilia.

She was frozen with fear. He could taste the pheromones.

She extended a hand to help him up, compassion in her dark eyes. He felt an instant in which her body reached out to draw pain from him. It was like a slight suction of negative ions. But there was nothing for her to draw from him.

His body felt no pain. His mind was totally at peace. The electrical overload had caused a momentary cessation of the dozens of tasks that his mind attempted in a given period of time. There was stillness and silence as he had never known.

He rose to his feet weakly.

Ilia's eyes were wide with terror as she caught the image of the light moving toward them.

It reached out a finger of light and touched her.

Spock watched as the light seemed to soften. Or perhaps it was the sound of the tone. It changed as the light touched her.

No!

She turned and looked into his eyes as if begging for help. Her mouth seemed to open to scream – stop this – help me.

Spock's eyes widened in disbelief.

The light reached out again and it chose. It chose Ilia.

There was no sound as the light coursed through her body. It seemed to radiate in sparks of light around her.

Terror froze her to her place.

Spock moved. He had to stop this.

He reached out to Ilia, grabbing her arm. He would pull her away from the light. But he felt a very physical push from the arc of electricity as it flung him aside.

Then the sparks and arcs of light that surrounded Ilia seemed to stop. The effect was not unlike a transporter.

Spock watched in disbelief as Ilia dematerialized before his eyes.

Then there was only silence.

Decker's voice sliced through the quiet with an accusatory jibe, "That is how I defined unwarranted."

Spock moved woodenly to his position. His mind reeling with information and searching for answers.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

V'ger slowed slightly as it assimilated and then analyzed the new data.

Each of the entities V'ger had encountered throughout its existence were ordered and like V'ger mechanized. A few in recent memory carried carbon based infestations.

The Enterprise entity was different.

It had something that V'ger did not understand.

The Bird of Prey entity and the Space station entity carried carbon based cargo as the Enterprise entity did. But there was something different about this one.

Enterprise entity had sought out V'ger, it had scanned V'ger as V'ger scanned the cosmos. It had moved cautiously and carefully into the depths of V'ger learning in its primitive way about V'ger.

Its illogical actions had prompted V'ger to ask questions about the creature, so V'ger had sent the first probe.

But the probe brought back confusing information on the cargo.

The data indicated that the carbon-based cargo was actually intelligent on a very basic level and may actually be something other than fuel or samples for transport.

The first carbon-based entity was the Spock entity. It was carbon based, and appeared to be mostly water but its data centers were as ordered and disciplined as all the larger entities V'ger had encountered.

But the Ilia entity was different. It was carbon based as the Spock entity but not ordered or disciplined. It was illogical and irrational. Its data centers were chaotic and random.

It felt things that V'ger both understood and found incomprehensible – fear, curiosity, uncertainty and caring.

Caring – what was this caring? Was it a dedication and devotion to other carbon based entities?

It seemed to motivate actions of the Ilia entity. Not the Spock entity, but certainly the Ilia entity.

And V'ger understood that motivation. The caring – needing – uncertainty – curiosity – fear sensations. They were new concepts, undefined before now but recognizable.

Yes, V'ger recognized it had these things in common with this very different entity.

Was it possible that there was another living thing in the universe that understood what it was to be curious and uncertain at once?

Was it possible that this entity knew the answer?

V'ger continued its journey to the creator as it contemplated the new data.


	40. Chapter 40

second probe walked among them with the appearance of Ilia. A machine merely a shell that resembled the woman who had been Ilia.

The first probe had taken Ilia into the great vastness of the ship that surrounded them, but it had offered no answers in return.

The second probe only asked questions.

It was only logical therefore that he seek out the information. It was his duty as science officer.

He had reasoned out every action.

It was logical that he make the attempt to communicate directly with the alien vessel. He alone had been able to sense its presence.

It was logical that he communicate directly as their mechanical attempts had been unreliable. As the only Vulcan aboard he was the only one who possessed the ability to do so.

It was logical that he leave the ship. The most efficient means of communication necessitated that he leave the distractions of sound and emotion and follow the psychic emanations to their strongest source.

With only 6 hours to Earth there was little time to explain to the Captain.

It would be a wasted effort since there was a 94% chance that Kirk would not permit the away mission. As a human he had no comprehension of the magnitude of the power and logic Spock sensed.

There was a brief thrill of anticipation and did he not question it. It was logical and well reasoned.

He silently incapacitated the lone ensign on duty, effectively absolving the young human of any crime.

Once inside the space suit he stepped quickly and efficiently outside the airlock.

The absence of sound in space was deafening. The relief from the emotional onslaught of the crew was as breathtaking as the view of the massive field enveloping them.

He realized now that he had decided to mind meld with the power source long before coming to this place. He had known from the moment that he heard the tone on Vulcan that if he were to touch the mind of such order and balance that he would finally find peace.

Navigation was simple in space, with only his mind to guide the course.

He did not even question the reasons for the image of Ilia he simply recorded the mission as any other solitary away mission, for the record – for posterity.

He felt no uncertainty or anxiety. He simply lifted his hands to the image and reached out with his body and mind as if he would touch something solid, something real.

In the 3 seconds that passed, Spock's mind was assaulted with more information than anyone could ever comprehend.

V'ger - it called itself V'ger.

Only the barest of images, fragments of memories were discernable.

V'ger's memories and his own memories became one.

/Answers?/

/What were the answers?/

/Require the answers!/

The Deltan female Ilia-The space station Epsilon 9 - Peace - Pure Power - arching energy - The Human female Dr. Chapel - Chaos - Ilia - Space station - Ilia - V'ger - V'ger alone - Peace - Ilia - V'ger - Ilia - Dr. Chapel - Christine Chapel - V'ger - Christine - Epsilon 9 - Peace - Chaos

No - it was not possible - _pain_.

There was such pain and emptiness here.

Epsilon 9 - anguished cries, terror, chaos.

Ilia turned to face him. Terror. Fear.

Peace. A message of peace, of mankind, of brotherhood. The human race.

The imaging conduit - full of plasma flashing like memories. Flashing power, heat, chaos, terror.

Dr. Chapel. Compassion, order in the chaos. Strength, courage? Emotions. Too many emotions.

Peace. It is a message of peace from mankind to the universe. It was a question a quest for answers.

Is this all that there is?

Epsilon 9. No answers. More questions. Millions of questions.

Is there nothing more?

Dr. Chapel? No fear. Balance.

Not possible.

Ilia the probe, the woman, the officer alive and not alive. Only a shell of a being where a woman should be.

No!

Peace! Humankind wishes you peace! A message of peace from - from - V'ger, from Epsilon - Ilia - Chapel.

No! It is not possible. It is too much!

In 3.1415926535 seconds his mind was overwhelmed with information and images that were impossible to comprehend and they burned bright like the sterile vacuum of space.

Then there was nothingness.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Jim Kirk adjusted the glove of the space suit impatiently. The airlock crew insisted on a thorough check of their captain, since they had been unable to convince him not to go.

Leonard McCoy was not so willing to let it go. He fairly seethed with anger at his friend's irrational behavior.

"Just what the hell do you think you're going to accomplish with this act of heroism?" He shouted

"I'm not trying to be a hero, Bones. I'm trying to find Spock."

"You don't need to find him, you know where he is. You could beam him back if you wanted to. You could stop him right now."

"I don't want him stopped, Bones. I want him to lead me to whatever's out there."

"And if that _whatever_ has taken over his mind?"

"Then he'll still have lead me to it, won't he?"

With an angry turn he marched into the airlock and was quickly decompressed for the space walk.

The silence of space was momentarily frightening. Instead of stars, there was nothing but V'ger all around. It was like some sort of icy nightmare.

He could just make out the silhouette of Spock against the aperture like opening of the next chamber of V'ger's vastness.

Jim pressed the acceleration button on his power pack. This time Spock would not go in alone. This time, Jim would stop him.

He was almost there, 100 meters more. He reached for his comm button on his suit and then quite suddenly there was a flash of light and Spock jetted out of sight into the small orifice that opened into the next chamber.

Before he could react the aperture closed and Spock was gone.

NO!

Not possible!

He was just there it wasn't possible. How could he have failed again?

He checked his suit sensors. The aperture opened at regular intervals. If he timed it properly he could follow Spock through and find him.

He had to find him.

He watched the aperture flex and then open. The barest of seconds later he caught the image of a humanoid form flying out toward him.

It was Spock!

He was only gone for a few moments. His figure floated dumbly toward Enterprise. As he came closer, Kirk could see that Spock was not moving.

He caught the limp figure, now curled in almost fetal position as he floated aimlessly through space.

Spock was unconscious, or dead. Kirk couldn't tell. He shook the body of his friend "Spock! Spock!" but the Vulcan didn't or couldn't respond.

He hugged the lean body to his and navigated them back to the airlock. It didn't even occur to him that he could have beamed directly to sickbay.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

He could hear the sound of V'ger still, ringing in his ears and in his mind.

So much information had flooded his brain that he could barely understand it. But he felt something. The beating of his heart, the sounds of the hissing air circulating in the room, the breathing of these humans.

He did not hear the whispers of Klingon.

In its place there was silence.

He had focused so much of his attention on the sensation of V'ger's call that he had almost forgotten the sound of it. The hateful whispers of his own weakness.

Now, quite suddenly there was silence.

He had sought the source of the purest logic he could find hoping against hope that its sterile scientific precision would answer his questions.

Is there peace in this control?

Is there sufficient control to reign in the fury?

Or am I nothing more than an animal?

Coming fully in contact with V'ger he found his answer.

The answer was 'No'.

No, there is no more peace in absolute control than in any other existence.

No, he was only a flesh and blood being. An entity without answers, but not without options.

V'ger had reached the edge of its comprehension and hungered for more. It had reached out to touch Ilia for that very reason.

Spock had reached the brink of his ability to control and could now see it was not what he needed.

An illogical assumption had sent him seeking the sterility of ultimate control. He had been seeking peace, not emptiness. All V'Ger offered was emptiness.

Peace, he now understood, was an emotion.

An emotion beyond V'ger's comprehension, but not beyond Spock's.

When logic guides the mind then emotions cannot control the body, but when control and logic rule the mind then the emotions cannot exist in the body.

V'ger understood.

V'ger sought peace as well.

Is this all that I am, is there nothing more?

V'ger sought more than its sterile emptiness.

V'ger craved what Spock cast aside the peace of belonging, emotional belonging. The peace of a home and a place in the universe.

"Now scanning the pons area. Spinal nerve fiber connection."

'Nerve fiber? Whose nerve fiber?' Spock thought in response.

"Indications of some neurological trauma. The power pouring through that mind meld must have been staggering."

'Staggering. Did the doctor just say he was staggering? No, the power was staggering.' Yet the image remained. Staggering. He was staggering under the weight of the knowledge.

Staggering, like a drunkard. Like a man drunk with wine weaving and bobbing joyfully as he moved. Drunk with joy, as carefree as a child.

Staggering.

The power of V'ger and the knowledge and the ignorance of V'ger _was_ staggering.

He _was_ drunk, drunk on knowledge. A drunkard staggering through the universe.

'Bartender another round for my friend!'

He laughed.

It felt good.

It felt good to _feel_ again.

Jim was suddenly there before him. "Spock?"

Spock raised his eyes to Jim.

His friend Jim.

And he felt peace. He let himself feel it as he drank in Jim's presence.

The hazel eyes of the man he had not seen in 2 and a half years peered down at him, hungry for the connection they once shared. The emotional connection of belonging.

Spock's heart leapt into his throat at the sight of him. Like a long lost brother he reached out to Spock, brazenly sharing his friendship and love. Spock accepted it and it warmed him as no medical concoction could.

"Jim." He said and he smiled. "I should have known."

"Were you right? About V'ger?"

He nodded drunkenly, "A life form of its own."

"A living machine?" McCoy asked and Spock tore his eyes from the captain to take in the image of Leonard McCoy. A better brother one could never choose, fiercely loyal, annoyingly human. How he had missed their quarrels.

"It considers the Enterprise a living machine, that's why the probe refers to our ship as a living entity."

"I saw its home planet. A planet populated by living machines. Unbelievable technology. V'ger has knowledge that spans this universe. And yet with all its pure logic, V'ger is barren, cold. No beauty. I should have..known." His consciousness was fading and he dimly wondered if this was what humans called passing out.

Rough hands shook him by the shoulders, "Known? Known what? Spock?"

"Captain-" The doctor tried to move him away.

"Bones. Spock? What should you have know?"

He wanted to sleep, needed to sleep. But something was very important. What was it? Oh yes, "Jim." He grabbed his friend's hand as if it could save him from drowning in this dark exhaustion. And somehow, illogically, it did. He smiled, "This simple feeling is beyond V'ger's comprehension." There was no wall of control left to erect between them. "No meaning, no hope. And Jim. No answers. It's asking questions."

"What questions?"

He did not disguise the welling of tears as he spoke, "Is this all that I am? Is there nothing more?"

"Bridge to Captain."

Jim moved to the comm unit. "Kirk here."

"A faint signal from Starfleet sir - "

From across the room Spock listened to Leonard and Jim talk together.

The memories of his experience flashed before his eyes. It was almost overwhelming again.

Ilia-Epsilon Station-Klingon Warship-Christine.

Christine?

Why had her image been so imbedded in the memory? V'ger had no experience of her, no memory of her as anything other than a carbon based unit. But in the flash of images hers was clear.

"I need Spock on the bridge."

The sound of his name brought his attention from his reverie.

Christine moved next to him.

She had been standing there the whole time and he had not questioned her presence, had not even looked at her. She was just quietly _there_ as she always had been. Watching, waiting for a need to arise so that she could fulfill it. Not out of any unrequited love or with any such expectations, but because it was who she was.

He looked at her now, seeing her with new eyes.

For an instant she seemed to pause, startled by the raw honesty that she found in his face. Then he watched, mesmerized by her ability to control, as her eyes changed from patient open watchfulness to warm but guarded action.

The order was given, she moved to respond.

"Diphelene 5 ccs." Dr. Chapel ordered Ensign Faron.

He heard her order the stimulant to help him function on the bridge but did not lower his gaze.

She met his eyes.

It was a moment of clarity that he had felt once before, but this time he felt no fear.

There was no doubt it was over. There would be no more.

This was all they had and now it was time to begin again.

They did have control. Control over how they were to live.

It was only a moment, but in that flash there was complete understanding.

There were still words that he wished to say, words that she deserved, but for this moment it was enough.

He nodded slightly to her saw her nod in acceptance.

Without a word she reached out and helped him up.

He moved from the bio bed, feeling like he had just come home.

McCoy was speaking in awe, "A machine planet. Sending a machine to earth looking for its creator. It's absolutely incredible."

Time to get the hell out of the belly of the beast.


	41. Chapter 41

Spock was lost in thought. The sadness of the wasted time was overwhelming.

He continued to scan the ship around them, continued to monitor communications. But he could not stop the emotions that welled up inside him.

Jim was talking to him, but he couldn't bring himself to turn at that moment.

"Spock?" Jim repeated and he turned in his command chair expecting his friend to respond. It was remarkable how easily those old patterns of habit returned. One minute Spock was gone, the next he was there.

Spock didn't respond. He didn't seem to hear. His thoughts were elsewhere. Sorting out the moments that had brought him to this day to this instant in time.

His friend, Jim, was here with him. For the first time in 2 and a half years he felt comfortable and at peace. He had done everything he could to find it except return to his place in the universe. Here, at Jim's side, on the bridge.

Where was V'ger's place?

His heart, newly awakened to the possibility of emotions, ached for V'ger.

Finally he turned to face his friend.

He had laughed today in this man's presence. He had reached out and held his hand in friendship. Now he turned to face his friend as no man ever faces anyone but his friend, in tears.

His gaze caught the worry and embarrassment Jim felt for Spock, and Spock almost smiled.

He finally understood that it is in the moment that one lives that there is peace.

In this moment, here on the brink of death there is peace.

Even in sorrow for the wasted years and lost opportunities, there is peace.

His eyes willed Jim to understand.

His human friend seemed to, "Not for us?"

"No Captain, not for us. I weep for V'ger as I would for a brother. As I was when I came aboard, so is V'ger now. Empty, incomplete, searching. Logic and Knowledge are not enough."

"Spock, are you saying that you found what you needed but V'ger hasn't?"

"What would V'ger need to fulfill itself?"

"Each of us some point in their lives turns to some person a father a brother a god and asks. Why am I here? What was I meant to be? V'ger hopes to touch its creator to find its answers."

"Is this all that I am? Is there nothing more?"

"Captain." Chief DeFalco called his attention to the screen.

"I believe that is our destination." Spock said.

Checkov looked up from his scanners bemused, "I read an oxygen gravity envelope forming outside the ship, sir."

The Ilia probe raised its hand and pointed at the view screen, "V'ger."

"The carbon units will not provide V'ger with the information."

"Mr. Spock, Bones. Mr. Decker, I will contact you every 5 minutes."

"Captain, I'd like to go along."

"Mr. Sulu, you have the con."

And the command crew moved to the turbolift.

With the input of a simple security code and a verbal command, the lift moved silently up to allow them access to the top of the saucer section of Enterprise.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Dr. Chapel sat in her office in sickbay watching the command crew walk across the saucer of Enterprise on her computer screen, executive privilege. Leonard had been on the bridge and so had been selected to go.

She didn't mind really. It was more than enough to have all of sickbay. She didn't need the bridge too.

She watched as the men stepped down into V'ger. She almost absently tapped a scan button on her terminal that brought up the vitals of the men. She watched the captain's heart rate go up slightly at the exertion of the first jump on to the octagonal steps. Leonard seemed unaffected. He'd been kept in good shape by his grandchildren.

Spock's vitals were low. Lower than when he'd boarded Enterprise only a few hours earlier. He needed some rest.

She began thinking of what sort of prescription she could write for a temporary duty officer, wondered if she should contact Vulcan medical.

Somehow she didn't think it would be necessary.

Something had changed in him. She wasn't sure what it was but it was certainly a result of his mind meld with V'ger.

When they brought him into sickbay Leonard had immediately called her. Her experience with the new medical equipment and her recent internship on Vulcan made her the expert. Now it was she who was barking orders to McCoy. Spock resuscitated quickly enough, but the trauma of the meld was too much. He just wouldn't respond to any form of stimulus.

Which is why the sound of his laughter still hung in her mind. It was such an unexpected and sad sound. She knew it was not uncommon for Vulcans to respond to mental trauma with a loss of emotional control. She had seen it herself in the hospital at the university but she had not expected it of Spock.

When he turned his gaze to her there was something else there. Something she couldn't explain. It was the look of understanding, not a fleeting glance of kindness but a naked compassion of one who has your shared pain.

She watched him now, on her tiny monitor, and knew he would be alright.

Time takes time.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Ilia was and was not. In ways that she could not comprehend she was no longer alive and yet she thought and remembered. For flickers of moments she even felt. But somehow the vastness of her being was so great that she could no longer feel as she had.

She needed something. If only she knew what it was.

She ached for it, longed for it, would have cried out for it if only she knew how.

He was talking. The one. He was talking to her. He seemed to understand, "Learn all that is learnable. Return that information to the creator."

Yes. That was her purpose. But she needed more.

She grew impatient, "Kirk unit. V'ger awaits the information." She needed it now. She must know why the creator had not responded. She must know where it was.

She needed the creator. She needed him as she had never needed anything before.

The Kirk unit spoke, "We are the creators."

No! "That is not possible, carbon units are not true life forms." You cannot be the creator.

Ilia was confused. No, it was not possible. She needed something more. Is this all that I am? Is there nothing more?

"The creator must join with V'ger."

Yes, that was it.

Her vision cleared for a moment. She could see him. He was there. There was more, so much more.

She wanted him, needed him. He was all that she could see. "The creator _must_ join with V'ger."

He met her eyes and she could see that he understood.

There was no one there but Decker and Ilia.

The creator and creation.

He was speaking to the others, sending them away.

Yes, the creator is kind.

Decker moved to the dais and repaired the comm line.

He knew the answer. Yes, Decker could key the final code and then V'ger could transmit.

The Kirk unit moved to interfere but Ilia would not allow it. She brushed him away like leaf on the breeze.

"Decker," one of the carbon-based life forms spoke now, "You don't know what that will do to you."

"Yes I do, Doctor." He looked into her eyes and she could feel his understanding as the energy began to rise and her memories began to clear.

But the Kirk unit would not give in so easily, "Decker don't!"

And the creator responded, "Jim, I want this. As much as you wanted Enterprise-" and he looked directly at Ilia, her heart warmed and melted at once.

V'ger/Ilia's mouth opened in a soft gasp of anticipation.

"I want this."

And she moved to him.

It was time.

Time to touch the creator, to complete a life's longing for completeness.

The energy that rose up around him was as deep and soft and gentle as a Deltan's kiss. In a moment all was light and sound. The images of the two merged in a flash of pure white.

It was done.


	42. Chapter 42

At the end of another day that the galaxy was supposed to end, Jim Kirk looked out the window of the empty officer's lounge at the stars as they passed by. He felt more at home than he had ever felt.

He knew he should be sleeping. Alpha shift would begin in 8 hours. He just wanted to watch the stars for a little while longer.

The doors hissed quietly open. He turned to see who had come to join him.

"Dr. Chapel." He made a point of greeting her by title despite the fact that she was dressed in comfortable off duty clothing.

She smiled a little noticing his effort, "Jim." She acknowledged him with a small nod of her head. She moved deliberately to the cabinet in the wall. One he had not explored.

With a tap of her finger the door slid open and revealed a plethora of intergalactic liquors. She didn't need to see his eyes widen in surprise. "Scotty's own personal touch." She said taking a bottle of golden liquid from the shelf. "All the officers pitched in. Scotch, bourbon," She lifted her own bottle "Brandy". She lifted two snifters from the assortment of drinking vessels, "Have some." She poured for the two of them and handed him a glass.

"Thank you, Doctor." He reached for it somberly.

They needed to talk.

"My name is Christine. At least in here." She winked playfully at him trying to put him at ease and sank gratefully into a soft chair near the window.

"Jim-"

"Christine-"

They both began at once.

Ever a gentleman he nodded his head to her, giving her the floor.

"Look, Jim. I don't want to leave my ship."

His eyes widened slightly at the possessiveness of her pronoun. She looked quizzically at him.

"You don't seriously think you're the only one who could feel that way do you? This is my ship, my sickbay. I helped design, test and even install everything in there. I won't throw it away on a whim. I just need to know you trust me. I was assigned as CMO of this ship a year ago. I want you to tell me that you have confidence in me. I want you to tell me you believe I am the right choice for CMO."

"I see. It's not exactly that simple-" He swirled his snifter expertly, then stared at the rivulets of alcohol trailing down the sides of the glass.

"Like hell it isn't. You're the captain you decide."

He looked at her another moment nodding his head slightly. "Alright _Doctor_. You are the right choice for CMO."

She laughed. "Thank you."

He leaned forward his eyes narrowed "I have the utmost confidence in you."

"Do you?"

"I've said it. What more can I do?"

"Nothing I guess. Time will tell."

The doors hissed again permitting the rest of the bridge crew.

Jim looked questioningly to Christine. "Did I call a staff meeting?"

Sulu moved to the cabinet and reached deeply for a pair of dark brown bottles. He tossed one to Checkov who was keying up music. Uhura moved to a chair with Scotty.

"Ladies and Gentlemen." The captain rose, "Aren't we on duty in 8 hours?"

"Eight hours, 42 minutes, sir." Spock the last to arrive stood near the door hands clasped behind his back. Unlike the others, he still wore his duty uniform.

Jim smiled. Some things never changed.

McCoy moved toward the window where the Captain and Doctor sat looking playful.

Jim turned to face him.

"So Jim. Has Christine told you about our new arrangement?"

"Arrangement? No. I don't believe she's mentioned it."

"We're hanging up dual shingles."

"Dual? How can that be?"

"Actually Jim, it's your own fault." Christine interjected now smiling as well.

"My fault?" Jim answered, taking the bait.

She smiled at him and scolded playfully, "You filled out Leonard's activation request incorrectly. You requested he get the highest ranking medical position available on Enterprise."

"Yeah?" Jim answered not understanding.

McCoy tried to look gruff, but only succeeded in looking amused. "Jim, Starfleet Medical appointed Christine to CMO. The position was filled. You only had one 'high ranking' position left."

Christine beamed at this, "Head nurse."

The room broke out in laughter

"No!" Jim looked truly scandalized.

"Yes!" McCoy pointed with his drink, "You're damn lucky you were so busy with V'ger or I'd have given you a piece of my mind."

Chapel laughed, "Why do you think he kept showing up on the bridge?"

"Ah Bones, I'm sorry."

"Save it Jim. Like I said, Christine and I are sharing the job. She's got the expertise in micro cellular biology, Vulcan, Rigellian and Deltan anatomy. I'll work with the other crewmembers. It's a big ship we'll be plenty busy."

"I've got the research labs as well." She reminded him.

"Sounds like you've got it pretty easy, doctor." Jim spoke to McCoy.

"Like hell, I get you!" The group laughed again. After a moment they all fell into pairs and trios of typical after work conversation.

Christine looked up and found that Spock was standing very near looking directly at her.

She tried to smile in greeting but suddenly felt uncomfortable and looked away. Old habits sure do die hard. She was afraid what the others might think if they saw her beaming at him. She didn't want to remind them of the word 'lovesick'. She couldn't very well ignore him that would be rude.

"Dr. Chapel, good evening." He moved up to where she sat. Leonard and Jim tried not to appear to be eavesdropping but Christine could feel their eyes on her.

"Mr. Spock." She tried to sound pleasant but non-committal. Then realized that she sounded rude. She felt panic rise now as she over analyzed her actions.

She rose not realizing how very close Spock stood to her. The sensation was unsettling. She swiftly drained the fiery liquid from her glass and made a movement to leave.

"Well I think I'd better get to bed. Good night everyone." She moved to the door without looking back. Her face was flushed with embarrassment. She had behaved like a child. What was she afraid of?

She marched into the turbolift turned and was face to face with Spock once again.

He had followed her out and she hadn't even noticed. She gulped hard. Everyone else would surely have noticed.

"Mr. Spock." She tried to sound casual.

"Dr. Chapel, I realize my presence is uncomfortable for you. I only wish to speak with you if you will permit it."

"Certainly." She paused.

"Perhaps in a less public setting." He suggested. She noticed that they were still standing in the turbolift.

"Uh, yes. Of course. Deck 5"

A few awkward moments later they arrived at her quarters. She found herself frantically wondering what sort of state of chaos it was in. She couldn't remember if it was suitable for company.

The door slid open with a hiss and she walked quickly inside. She snatched up her robe from the chair and gestured for Spock to sit.

As she moved to the small sleeping alcove in the back of her quarters she mused on how much things had changed since this morning when she had tossed her robe on the chair. She had been late, again. Decker had been Captain. V'ger had barely been a blip on Starfleet's radar.

She tossed the robe on her bed and looked into her living area. Spock sat comfortably in the chair. He seemed different somehow. Of course it could be a side effect of mind meld with V'ger, but he seemed positively relaxed. She shook her head in disbelief. Spock was sitting in her room, amazing.

She supposed that 3 or more years ago her heart would have been all a flutter about it. A small part of her still felt a twinge of excitement about it. But for the most part all she could do was wonder what he wanted.

Well there was only one way to find out.

She walked into the living area and sat down on the couch opposite the Vulcan.

"Can I get you something?" She asked.

"No, Thank you. I do not wish to stay long. As the Admiral said, we have to be on duty in a few hours."

"Alright. What can I do for you Commander?"

He looked squarely into her eyes and paused. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She had certainly dreamt of a time when he would look at her, really look at her, but now it seemed so awkward.

He pressed his lips together, appearing to have difficulty finding the words. She was about to speak when he finally said, "I have come to apologize to you."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, "Apologize? What could you possibly have to apologize to me for?"

Again he paused. After a long moment he tilted his head to one side and simply said, "For leaving."

"Oh Spock, don't apologize. I understood why you left. In my own way I left too."

"Did you?" he seemed skeptical and almost amused.

"Oh sure. I've spent the better part of the last two years learning to forgive myself for that day."

"Forgive yourself?"

She looked down at her hands, "For doing the one thing I could never do. For taking life." She looked up at him, her eyes intense. "I took the Hippocratic oath, I swore I would never do harm. And yet I did. Like a - like an animal." Her voice was the barest of whispers. She swallowed hard steeling herself against the tears. Then felt pride when they finally did not come. She could talk about it, with Spock and the tears did not come. Perhaps Don was right; perhaps the worst was gone. She looked away from his astonished gaze, suddenly embarrassed.

"Yes." His baritone voice brought her eyes back. "You do understand." His eyebrows were lost in his dark bangs, his eyes wide with wonder. "You _do_ understand." He too was brought to a whisper of surprise. "No one knew what it meant to lose control." He said.

"No one knows what it is to have the civilized facade ripped away." She said, meeting his intense gaze. She stared for a long moment then she said the one thing she had never said, "In a terrible way, it felt good." Her face was crimson now and she couldn't believe she had allowed the words to pass her lips.

But Spock did not break the stare he just nodded slightly. "Yes. Yes it did." Then he stopped. It was true. It was unspeakable, but true.

They stared in shock at one another for a long time.

And then the moment seemed to wane and each felt the embarrassment of not knowing what else could be said.

Christine spoke first, "It's good to be among friends."

"Yes, it is good to be home."

Christine smiled nervously and cleared her throat and looked away.

Spock blinked and made a halfhearted effort to raise his mask of Vulcan control. He knew that she could see through it, and yet it was the only thing he could do. It was part of who he was.

After a small nod of acceptance they both rose from their seats.

Spock turned to the door, "Good night, Christine." He said and he exited her quarters.

She smiled sadly and looked at the closed door for a long time. "Good night, Spock."


	43. Chapter 43

Epilogue - The Debt

The shakedown cruise was shorter than any had expected. Starfleet received the news of Capt. Decker and Lt. Ilia's disappearance with typical military acceptance. A brief but thorough investigation was held and by the time Enterprise returned to Earth it was over.

Of course there was still the matter of Admiral Kirk's command of Enterprise. Nogura had given him the ship only when he believed it was necessary and only for the limited mission. Now that V'ger was no more there was the sticky matter of how to sign the entire tour over to him.

Naturally there was much discussion in the popular media about it but Nogura was not generally swayed by that sort of thing.

Jim did have all the skills needed to command the newly outfitted ship, but the technicalities required his presence on Earth for an official change of command and a new send off.

For the crew of Enterprise it was a relief to actually have an official send off.

For Scotty it was a blessing as there were numerous systems that needed complete outfitting or re calibration. He estimated 6 days so Jim was counting on 3.

After a long and grueling day in Starfleet HQ the newly official captain of the Enterprise was roaming the station for a place to unwind.

Nogura had run him through his paces, but in the end they had hashed out all the details and Jim was given the full 5 year mission.

Head aching, he decided to stop by the Officer's club for a burger and beer before heading back to the ship.

It was after 2200 on a duty weekday and the place was deserted. He took up a barstool and tossed his credit chit on the counter and ordered from the tall Andorian barkeep, "Beer. I don't care what kind."

From somewhere in a dark corner he heard a voice, "The Heineken's on tap, Jim and it's not bad." Christine moved up to his left and took up a chair.

McCoy took a chair to his right.

"How long have you two been here?" he asked wearily.

"Oh 'bout 10 minutes." Leonard answered. His beer was barely touched.

The bartender brought a pint glass and scanned Jim's chit.

Jim took a long sip and savored the sensation of the cold bubbly liquid as it moved down to his empty stomach. "What did George say about your arrangement?"

Christine snorted slightly and swallowed her sip of beer, "He about fell out of his chair, but it was ok. We convinced him it was the right thing to do."

"Did you now?" Jim asked skeptically.

The doors opened and in walked a few Enterprise crewmembers, including Sulu and Checkov. Many of the crew had elected to take leave time, but Checkov and Sulu had been working at Starfleet coordinating the final refit of equipment.

McCoy held his beer at eye level watching the bubbles rise, "Actually we're piloting a new staffing structure for Starfleet Medical."

Jim smiled and looked from one to the other, "Whose idea was that?"

"CMO of Starfleet Medical thought it would be the best way to handle the situation." Christine answered diplomatically.

"You ganged up on him." Jim laughed.

Sulu and Checkov ordered drinks and some food from the table padd. Jim wondered if he should eat too. The beer was making him feel lightheaded.

The doors opened again. It was a regular late-night rush.

Uhura and Rand entered dressed in civilian clothes and flanking an exhausted looking Spock. Oddly enough Spock had elected to take leave time with the two women.

"Just one small drink and then we'll go back to the ship." Rand was saying, apparently to Spock because Uhura looked genuinely pleased to be there.

They moved to the bar where the doctors flanked the captain.

"Mr. Spock?" Jim smiled to his friend. "What have you been up to today, my friend."

He felt suddenly warm and good, being able to say that to Spock again. It was good to be here.

Spock stopped within arms reach of his friend, clasped his hands behind his back comfortably and answered, "Commanders Uhura and Rand have been showing me the highlights of the Bay area."

Uhura fished something out of her pocket, a credit chit. "We've been playing tourist. Alcatraz, Golden Gate, The Ghiradelli Chocolate Factory." She turned to the jukebox on the wall and slid her chit into it selecting a few songs at random.

Rand continued, "Can you believe that Spock has never been to any of those places!"

"I can believe it." McCoy ribbed easily. He too looked happy to be here with all of his friends.

Spock raised a ubiquitous eyebrow and defended himself good-naturedly. "I was otherwise occupied when I was at Starfleet Academy."

Christine only smiled into her beer and remembered how she too had not ventured outside the campus except when heartily nagged by her friends.

A lively tune suddenly filled the bar and Uhura returned to the bar placing an arm around Jim and Leonard's necks. "Now Gentlemen, I have served for more than five years with you and you have never ever danced with me. Tonight, my friends, we will end this dreadful faux pas."

Before either could protest she pulled them up from their stools, grasping their hands and fairly dragged them to the small area set aside for dancing. Rand laughed heartily and sat in the captain's now empty seat.

She ordered a pitcher of ale and a large platter of nachos. She had barely finished ordering when Sulu and Checkov appeared and pulled her to the dance floor as well.

Christine looked down at her beer and up at Spock awkwardly. He too seemed ill at ease. They watched in silence as their friends bounced and bobbed to an old rock and roll tune.

It seemed so right and yet so very wrong at once. To be here with all their friends enjoying food and company and yet to hear the unspoken thought that no one would ask either of them to dance. As if somehow it were some sort of taboo that none of them would speak of lest they raise the specter of the carnage of that night so long ago.

Spock turned to the bar and leaned forward on it in a very relaxed manner that surprised Christine. The stiffness of the Kolinahr had melted away. What was left was a much more relaxed Vulcan than she had ever seen.

Or perhaps, she thought, it was her perspective.

On the first tour after she had been branded the 'lovesick' nurse she had done everything she could to avoid him. She had never really had the occasion to socialize with him.

It wasn't as if Spock never relaxed.

She had heard of the times when he would play his harp in the rec room, accepting the teasing of Uhura and the others. She remembered how Leonard had carried on about Spock being 'One' and not 'Herbert', that he was probably a closet Hippie and not the stuffy Vulcan they all thought he was.

No, she concluded, it wasn't that he was more relaxed than before. She was simply part of the command crew now.

A second bouncing tune began and Christine noticed that Spock had turned to watch the dancers again. He still stood at arm's length from the Captain's chair, now holding a tall glass of sparkling water. She had been so lost in thought she hadn't noticed the bartender bring it to him.

Their friends laughed and bounced in time with the music. A plate of sizzling chips and cheese magically appeared beside her along with a tall clear pitcher of golden ale.

She shook her head amusedly at the thought of Leonard's eternal nagging about high fat, low nutrition foods.

The second song began to wind down and a new slower tune struck up. One she didn't recognize.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Spock move to the bar, but she focused her attention to the dance floor. Leonard was coming toward them, but Jim had taken Janice in hand to dance to the slow music. Checkov had paired off with a pretty little red head with freckles that Christine had not noticed before. Sulu and Ny had teamed up and were quickly circling the floor in grand ballroom style.

"Christine?" A baritone voice sounded at her elbow.

She turned to see Spock there.

She paused a moment musing at how easily he spoke her name these days. It had been a long time since Psi2000.

"Yes Spock?" She said turning slightly on the stool to face him.

He extended a hand and her heart jumped into her throat. Surely he didn't mean..

"May I have the honor of this dance?" His eyes were intense on hers. It was the same look he had given her in sickbay when he awoke from his mind meld with V'ger. It was unnerving, piercing and unyielding.

"I-" She began to protest. It wasn't necessary. She was quite content to sit and watch. She had no illusions.

"Please." He asked quickly cutting her off. "I would be most grateful if you would allow me to finally pay my debt to Dr. McCoy."

She paused a moment. She remembered the conversation overheard a lifetime ago. The bet, the poker bet that had cost Spock a promise to dance.

It was hanging out there in everyone's memory, the unpaid debt that cost each of them all this lost time.

She nodded hesitantly and on unsteady legs rose from her chair to move to the dance floor.

It should not be so very hard, she thought. It's just a dance. Just a silly little dance.

She felt Spock at her side, silent and warm.

He took the half empty glass from her hand.

She raised her eyes to meet his and was surprised at what she found understanding, compassion and patience.

He extended his elbow as he had at the ball.

She swallowed hard.

Then without another thought took his arm and was amazed to feel his opposite hand close over hers reassuringly.

Her heart calmed a bit as they neared the tiny floor of swirling lights.

She turned to face him expecting a typical waltz stance but he pulled her in close for a modern styled slow dance. He slid an arm easily around her waist, took her hand in his and began to move slowly confidently around the floor.

Neither of them dared look to their friends, they knew all eyes were on them, they could feel them like hot lights on a stage.

Spock could not only dance, but he danced very well. His subtle cues and light easy rhythm made it easy for Christine to follow him.

She tried not to think of how easy it was to dance with him.

They turned a corner with a slight spin and she leaned back slightly to meet his eyes. There was something she wanted to say. Something she had wondered about for a long time.

He looked as relaxed as he had all night.

He raised an eyebrow inquisitively, sensing that she wanted to ask him something, inviting her to speak.

"Spock, I know it doesn't really matter, but I've always been curious. Why did you ask me to dance with you that night?" the question came out far more easily than she had imagined it would. Still, her heart pounded in her ears and her hands began to sweat.

Spock inclined his head slightly and answered simply, "I believed you would say yes."

It was just that simple.

Christine smiled.

Yes, it had never been very complicated. It was exactly as she had always known in her heart. Just a bad situation, a bad set of circumstances. They had unfortunately been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The song ended and they paused in their place on the dance floor as dancers so often do, gazing at one another as if unwilling to let go of the moment of togetherness.

Then they parted, just as smoothly as they had come together.

"Thank you, Mr. Spock." She smiled comfortably.

And he surprised her with his easy response "It was my pleasure, Christine."

They moved back to where their friends now occupied the bulk of the bar and found that the unspoken tension had lifted.

Now their family of friends was laughing and joking.

It took two more pitchers of beer and numerous platters and bowls of food before the crew tired of their late night and leaving together found their way home.

End

One Part Be My Lover  
- B. Raitt/M. O'keefe  
When he looks in her eyes he sees only the truth telling him he's been living a lie  
Over and over like a line in a song about all the love he let pass him by.  
To her he might be the man of her dreams to find where she's been hiding inside  
Broken or battered, it really don't matter her heart's like a wave and he's the tide.  
They're not forever, just for today  
One part be my lover One part go away.  
He's like a boxer who had to retire after winning but killing a man.  
He's got all of the moves and none of the courage afraid to throw a punch that might land.  
Not too much later she can't meet his glance you see her start pulling away.  
Over and over like fire and ice, one is color one is gray.  
They're not forever, they're just for today  
One part be my lover, one part go away.  
So if you know how why don't you say 'em a prayer they're gonna need all the help they can get.  
They remember too much about what went wrong, it might be they should learn to forget.  
Forget themselves in each other and leave what belongs in the past.  
Carry their hearts like a newborn child cause it's only the moment that lasts.  
They're not forever, they're just for today.  
One part be my lover, one part go away.


End file.
